Anomaly
by Lily and Shadow
Summary: Near was different, that was something everyone knew. What they didn't know was why. Companion to Inequity, Lost, and Fallen. Name/series spoilers, rated for content. EDITING & HIATUS
1. Hush Little Baby, Don't Say a Word

**A/N: **Hola. Ok, explanation of this story. I've been working on Godless for awhile now. MattMello is my all time favourite pairing and I love writing them. I like that story because they seem human. i wanted to do that with Near, too. It's easy to forget sometimes that he is human. Anyway, I mention him several times in Godless, but he never has a direct role in the story. This is a companion piece to that, so I'll try to intertwine the stories as best I can, but this is about Near rather than Matt and Mello. So if you don't like Near with emotions, this isn't the piece for you. Oh, and this is short because it's just kind of an intro. The next chapter will be longer.

Thank you to everyone who's read Godless!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Death Note._

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_

_Anomaly – (n.) One that is peculiar, irregular, abnormal, or difficult to classify._

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Finally it was quiet. The day had been far too loud. Everywhere he went the corridors had been filled with whispers. Whispers about his hair and the way he dressed, whispers of people who doubted he was smart enough to be here. They thought he was strange. But for all the whispering, not one person had tried to talk to him. That was alright with him, though. He couldn't stand people anyway.

With a sigh Near closed the door and glanced around the room that was to be his for now. It was empty except for his few belongings, but it was quiet. The road that had led him here had been a long and difficult one and he was just glad for the silence. This was his chance to begin again. This place would be good for him. They would teach him and teach to his level, and he would be safe here.

Near wasn't really an orphan, but it seemed the other children didn't know that. If they had they would have whispered about that too. It was better that they didn't know. They could speculate all they wanted, it didn't bother him, but if they found out what really happened he would never be able to face them again. It was hard enough now. He knew and that was bad enough. It was something he would have to live with for the rest of his life, however short a time that might be.

It was a little after nine, but Near didn't feel like sleeping. He wasn't used to this place yet, so he was a little anxious about going to sleep. He wasn't even used to his new name yet. Near. It was such a strange name and he wondered why that had been chosen as his alias. He hadn't really taken much notice of the other children or their names, though.

Quietly he set to unpacking, which didn't take long, before curling up on his bed. There was too much to think about. Under normal circumstances he could process things with incredible speed, but these hardly counted as normal circumstances. Right now he could hardly think. He didn't want to, though. Didn't want to look at why he was here, didn't want to remember.

The taunts of the other children still echoed in his mind. He was tiny, much too small for his age, with pure white hair, pale skin, and coal coloured eyes. He kind of looked like a ghost. His appearance wasn't his fault and he had long ago learned to ignore the stares and cruel comments, but today that had been hard to do. Soon enough he would prove to them that he did belong here, that his appearance meant nothing, but there was nothing he could do until tomorrow, so perhaps it would be a good idea just to go to sleep. Tomorrow would be a long day.


	2. Mirror, Mirror

**A/N: **Hola. Wow, I didn't think this would get the kind of response it has. I'm in a really good mood right now because today was just straight up awesomeness. Anyway, a little about this chapter. The _italics_are flashbacks. I really wasn't sure how to break this up. The flashbacks are to the previous day. And I'll tell you right now that Near's older than he looks. The current time sections are day two of Near's time at Wammy's. On with the story.

Thank you to Crisium, Con Fuoco, xxdemonchild, and Quarter Queen for reviewing!

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Death Note. Actually, I have yet to acquire a copy of Death Note 13.

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"_Who's the weird kid?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_I think he's new."_

"_Yeah. I saw him come in this morning."_

"_What's he wearing?"_

"_Forget that, he has white hair."_

"_He can't be older than four."_

"_What's wrong with him?"_

_Near sat in one corner of the large room, watching the others with a blank stare. He wasn't interested in them or what they thought of him. The old man, Roger was his name, had said that Near should try to meet some of the other children. Near didn't care. What he really wanted was a chance to be alone to think._

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Near was up early the next morning. Breakfast was at seven and he hoped that if he got there early enough there wouldn't be many other people. Quickly he threw on a shirt and pants identical to the ones he had worn the day before and shuffled out the door.

When he reached the dining hall he was dismayed to find that his assumption had been wrong. Even though it was Saturday and only a few minutes past seven the room was full of children, although most of them were older and would probably take no notice of him. Without a sound he got a plate and scarcely enough food to feed a bird and went to sit off in a corner where he wouldn't be seen. Even so he managed to attract stares.

But it was on the way back to his room that he finally took notice of one of the people staring at him. She couldn't have been much older than him with brown pigtails and kind brown eyes. What caught his attention was the way she looked at him. It wasn't a cold stare, as though she thought there was something wrong with him, but rather almost sympathetic.

"_I believe you'll do well here," the old man smiled. "You'll find that the people here are quite used to children like you." He paused to take in the tiny boy's puzzled stare and sighed. "Well, maybe not exactly like you. Our children come from all different backgrounds. You're very smart, you know. All of the children here are. That's why I think you'll be happy here."_

_Near just nodded timidly and followed the man down the hall, clutching his snowy white teddy bear to his chest and tugging on the straps of his backpack. This place was huge and just a little intimidating. And there were so many children. He wondered briefly where they all came from and if any of them were like him. He hoped not, for their sakes. Finally the old man stopped in a hallway that seemed mostly empty. The only sounds were the hushed voices of two little girls coming from a room down the hall. He watched Roger fish a key from his pocket and open one of the doors. It a small dormitory type room and Roger told him this would be his room._

"_But perhaps you should meet some of the other children," Roger suggested._

_Near just stared blankly up at him, and it was that same blank stare he gave the children Roger had been so anxious for him to meet. The ones who merely whispered about him instead of talking to him. The ones who offered only a cold criticism rather than the warm welcome Roger had assured him of._

But this girl, there was something different. It was almost as though she could see what had happened to him as clearly as if it had been written on his face and it made him uneasy. He quickened his pace a little and when he reached his room he locked the door behind him.

However, when the door closed he caught sight of the mirror hanging on the back of it, the one he had been so careful to ignore the night before. This time, though, he caught a glimpse of his reflection and couldn't look away. It was as though the figure in the mirror was staring at him, through him, repeating to him everything he had done, everything he had been too weak to defend himself from. He was pathetic and as he looked at his reflection he could see the stains of his past in the dark circles beneath his dull eyes, in his hunched shoulders, in his white hair, and in his smallness. He was weak and his weakness disgusted him. He was too small to fight, not strong enough to defend himself. Frail and worthless and utterly disgusting.

With a soft, strangled cry he sank to the floor and curled up into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible until no one could see him. Silent tears slipped slowly down his cheeks and he cursed himself for being so intolerably pathetic. If he hadn't been so weak, none of this would have happened. It was his fault. No matter what they told him, it was his fault. They had tried to convince him otherwise while he was still being kept at the hospital. They'd kept him there too long. They had said it was just a precaution in case he got sick, but he knew they thought he might hurt himself. The thought had crossed his mind, but he had rejected it out of fear. If he did that, it would make him weaker, and the weaker he was the less likely it was that he would be able to fight should he be attacked again. He was already weak, he didn't want to do anything that might keep him from defending himself.

And from somewhere in the haze the thought of his expectations for this place came to mind. He had hoped things would be better here. They would, to some extent, but he could never be rid of what had happened to him. He would never be anything but weak and useless and filthy. And no one here would ever understand.


	3. Rain, Rain, Go Away

**A/N:** Hola! Chapter 3. So have I mentioned yet how frickin' hard Near is to write? 'Cause he is. And sorry about the short chapters. I don't know why they keep turning out like this. Anyway, this is where it gets weird. _Italics_ are flashback, of course, but **bold **is flashforward. Just keep that in mind. I love stream of consciousness... Well, that's about it. On with the chapter.

Thank you to Quarter Queen and Crisium for reviewing!

**Warning: **Spoilers for ep.25/volume 7 (I think I have those right) and for Near's real name!

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

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Monday. The day Near had been dreading. After successfully avoiding any human contact, Roger excluded, for most of Saturday and all of Sunday he would be starting classes this morning. Roger had told him he didn't have to go just yet, but Near knew it wouldn't do to fall behind already. Near had been surprised to find that the elderly caretaker seemed genuinely concerned about him. Yes he was having a certain amount of difficulty adjusting, but he didn't think it was that obvious. All things considered he thought he was doing fairly well at hiding his emotions. That was a challenging task when just living seemed like too much.

Dressed the same as ever, he attracted just as many stares in his classes – especially the ones where most of the students were older – but there wasn't as much whispering. He figured it had something to do with the teachers. Still, the one stare he noticed was that of the brown haired girl he had seen the day before. It still made him more uneasy than anyone else's stare even though, or perhaps because, it was more curious and sympathetic than mocking and untrusting.

It was at lunch that he noticed something rather curious. There was another boy here who looked like him. He was much older, tall, and had black hair, but other than that he looked the same as Near. The same grey eyes with dark circles under them, the same pale skin, even the same blank stare. However, rather than the scepticism and criticism that greeted Near, this boy was greeted with awe, admiration, and even jealousy. He was greeted with more silence than whispers, but the people who did whisper had only good things to say. And yet, he was still alone, just as Near was alone. No one approached him, no one spoke to him. Their reverent stares were the only acknowledgement they granted and some didn't even glance up as he came in. He didn't seem to mind being alone, though, and that made Near curious. He wanted to know who this was.

So later that day, when classes were over and Near was once again steeped in the silent solitude of his room, he spent far too much time puzzling over the odd boy and the little girl. Why, he wondered, did she seem to pity him? And why was he so odd? He wondered who they were and if they were anything like him.

**Near paid no heed to the rain that soaked his clothes and plastered his white hair to his face. Instead he focused only on the grave marker at his feet. No name, no dates of birth or death, no clue as to who this grave was for. All the stone said was "Here lies justice." But the person who lay beneath that stone, there was more to him. He had been Near's hope and guidance. He had very nearly been a savior to the world, the one to rescue them from Kira, but in the end he had lost. And Near had lost more than just a mentor, he had lost two others as well. They lay nearby, their grave markers just as nondescript as this one, just as vague. Near was so lost in his thought, his memories, and the sound of the softly falling rain that he failed to notice the girl standing behind him, her long, brown hair drenched with the rain and the flowers she held losing petals from its impact.**

He could hear the soft sound of rain against his window and it slowly lulled him into a trance-like state. There were voices out there, in the rain. Some of them whispering while others screamed and cried. Many of them were familiar, some of them weren't. Voices from his past. Voices he never wanted to hear again.

"_Be a good boy for mommy, Nate."_

_Nate ignored the woman, staring past her to the raindrops splattering against the windowpane. This woman with her brown hair and green eyes, she was too familiar. He wanted nothing to do with her. There were hands on his shoulders and he didn't want them there. He __didn't want her to touch him, didn't want anyone to touch him. He wanted her to go away and leave him in peace._

"_Be a good boy, Nate. You don't want mommy to be angry with you, do you? Nate?"_

_No answer. He was still ignoring her. Just block it out. He had learned long ago just to block it out. The best thing for it was to make himself numb. She was stronger than him. It didn't matter if he fought, he always lost. Better just to block it out, send his mind somewhere far away and leave his body numb. That was all he could do to get through it._

The soft pitter-patter of rain against the window seemed to reflect the tears that once again stained the tiny boy's cheeks as he closed his eyes and hugged his knees to his chest. He never cried, not back then. He had never been permitted to cry. Crying just made things worse. But here he was safe. Surely no one here would punish him for crying. But he wasn't sure if that was true so he took a few deep, shuddering breaths until the tears stopped and wiped the dampness from his face as he forced his mask back into place. After all, the sky was crying for him.


	4. And When the Bough Breaks

**A/N: **Hola! Chapter 4. I actually had this done last night, but I decided to wait to post it. Just a few notes. Again _italics_are flashback. In the last chapter the girl with the sympathetic stare and the girl in the graveyard are the same person. I see Near as being from the U.K., but I don't know anything about their court system so that bit's based on the American court system. And on Crisium's note on my note about not owning Death Note 13, you're lucky. We don't even have a bookstore around here. So every time I go home I drag my whole family to the bookstore because I swear I start to go into Border's withdrawl while I'm at school. On with the chapter.

Thank you to Crisium, Emerald Skies, Quarter Queen, and Karin Babbitt for reviewing!

**Warning:** More name spoilers for Near.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note, but I do watch it on T.V. despite my disdain for the English voice-actors. (For some reason the Japanese voice-actors always seem to be better...)

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There he was again. That boy who ever so vaguely resembled a panda, the one who Near had become so fascinated with. Of course he hadn't asked anyone who the boy was, even though he knew that anyone he asked would know. Trouble was, he had yet to speak to anyone – he had only said a total of about five words to Roger – as no one had approached him and he was never one to initialize any sort of interaction with anyone. And so Near sat silently amongst the rows of musty books that filled the sunlit library, wondering and rejecting hypothesis after hypothesis. Even though he had been here only five days he had already figured out that everything here was based on grades, so that most likely had something to do with the other children's awe and jealousy. After all, this place only took in the best and brightest of the horror stories like him who meandered along their not so merry way while the rest of the world contentedly denied their existence. How many years had it been before anyone noticed or believed him when he hinted at what had been done to him?

But his silence wasn't to last for long. He had not missed the sound of footsteps behind him, approaching cautiously most likely in an effort not to attract his attention so that whoever they belonged to could just continue to ignore him without feeling guilty. What he hadn't expected was for that person to not only acknowledge him, but to speak to him.

"Hello, there," said a soft, feminine voice. The speaker couldn't have been much older than he was and she seemed to be debating the best way to begin the conversation. Obligingly, Near turned to face her and found himself face to face with the girl whose sympathetic stare had so unsettled him. "My name's Linda. You're in my beginning psychology class, aren't you?"

Near nodded, wondering why she was talking to him.

"Sorry if I'm bothering you," she continued. "But I couldn't help noticing that you're always all alone. You're new here, aren't you?"

Again Near nodded.

Linda cocked her head slightly to the side so that one of her brown pigtails brushed her shoulder and gave him a puzzled look. "Do you speak?"

For a third time Near nodded, feeling no need to prove his answer.

"Oh." She seemed a bit put off by his unwillingness to talk, but pushed on anyway. "What's your name?"

There was a long pause before the small boy whispered "Near" and fell silent again.

Linda smiled. "Well, Near, what are you studying?"

Near didn't answer, but Linda took notice of the blocks stacked into pyramids at his feet. Perhaps the cause of his shyness was his young age. She herself was only eight, but for the children here eight really wasn't so young.

"How old are you, Near?" she tried again with a warm smile that told him she thought she was speaking to someone much younger than herself.

"Seven," Near replied curtly. He hated when people mistook him for a small child.

Linda blinked, surprised, but recovered gracefully. "Really? Then you're only a year younger than me. I've an idea. Perhaps you'd like to join me at dinner? You do look lonely in the corner by yourself."

When Near didn't answer she frowned and stood up.

"If I'm bothering you then I'll go," she said quietly. Near realized from her voice and her movements that he had made her angry. Well, perhaps not angry, but at least a bit ruffled. He stared up at her questioningly for a moment and when it seemed that she would leave he turned his gaze back to the odd boy perched on a chair next to the window, a pile of books on the table before him. Linda noticed where he was looking and realized what he had been doing. "That's L. He won't talk to you if that's what you're hoping for. He's supposed to be the smartest person here, but he hardly ever says a word to anyone. And my offer for dinner still stands if you'd like."

With that she turned to leave. Near watched her go and mused that she either hadn't been as ruffled as he thought or she was very fickle. Either way she seemed friendly enough and it was a nice change from the cruel whispering that had followed him everywhere since his arrival.

Near did join Linda for dinner, but he felt awkward and only said a total of about four words the whole meal. He wasn't good at conversation and he was content to let her ramble on about the orphanage and the people in it. That is, until she asked a rather unwelcome question.

"But of course, everyone here has lost their parents," she said sadly, looking down at her plate. "Mine were killed in a car crash two years ago. I know it had to be recent for you, Near, since you just got here and all, but what happened to yours?"

At this Near froze. For about three full seconds he didn't move at all and when he recovered from his shock he picked up his plate and cup and hurried off without looking back. It was a reasonable assumption, he supposed, but she couldn't know. None of them could know. And he didn't want to remember. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself as he shuffled quickly back to his room, failing to disguise his slight limp in his haste.

He wasn't sure about his father, but his mother was in prison for abuse. He had helped put her there with his testimony at the trial. The last image he had of the woman who had caused him so much anguish was of long, untamed curls of brown hair hiding a cold pair of green eyes set in a too old face, the blaze orange jumpsuit with black letters and numbers on it taking the place of her usual blouse and skirt in muted earth tones. And it was that image he would rather remember because that image assured him that she could do him no more harm.

"_The prosecution calls Nate River," the lawyer announced as the child services representative lead to the front of the court room a tiny, white haired boy who refused to take her hand. The jury seemed surprised when he was made to take an oath. After all, he appeared to be no more than a toddler even if the prosecution had made it clear that he was seven years old and by far intelligent enough for his testimony to be of use. _

"_Nate," the lawyer began. "You are the son of the defendant, Eleanor Ann River, correct?"_

_Nate paused for a moment and looked into his mother's face, saw the pleading expression the woman wore, and with one word and a sweep of his dead gaze crushed any hope she may have harbored that her son would take some pity on his mother. _

_"Yes."_


	5. The Bells of St Johns

**A/N:**Hola! Chapter 5. At last! An almost decent length chapter! Just one thing to say about this. I know I'm vague about what happened to Near. I've done that intentionally. I just feel that his circumstances are something that need to be handled with a bit more delicacy and subtlety than what I've written for Matt and Mello in Godless. I have the utmost confidence in your ability to work it out. I will make it clear beyond a doubt later on, but that will take time and a bit more development of the story. On with the chapter.

Thank you to Quarter Queen, Emerald Skies, and Riku-Rocks for reviewing!

**Warning:** Ok, this is the last warning about spoilers for Near's real name, since this will be the third chapter I've used it in.

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Death Note, nor do I ever plan to.

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Roger sighed as he rested a hand on the doorknob. He was used to Near's silence of course, but it certainly didn't make it any easier to talk to the boy. He had taken the mirror out of the room at the end of last week after Near had tried unsuccessfully to cover it with a sheet, though he still didn't know what the problem had been. It wasn't that he hadn't dealt with children like Near before – he had, and far too often – it was just the combination of traits that made him difficult. He couldn't be placed with the other children because he became even more withdrawn when made to deal with them outside of class. Near, it seemed, was a solitary creature, and an untrusting one at that. He refused to let anyone touch him, or even come near him, which didn't really surprise Roger all that much since he had been an abuse case. But it seemed the boy may have been naturally paranoid even before any of that started. He was always aware of his surroundings and it seemed he had even begun learning to identify people by the sound of their footsteps. He would know exactly who was coming by the time they were four doors away. He would not, however, speak to any of them. In answer to most of his questions Roger received either a nod, a shake of the head, or a blank stare. Roger was lucky – Near wouldn't even acknowledge any of the other staff, even though he made it clear he knew they were there. However, Roger knew he wasn't mute, from trauma or any other affliction; his trial testimony was proof enough of that. It seemed he had simply made a conscious decision not to speak. And he had done a fine job of it, too. Roger hadn't heard him say a word since the incident with an artist girl named Linda at dinner over a week ago. But the thing that was most frustrating was watching the child steadily deteriorate because he refused to allow anyone near him, nor could he take care of himself. Perhaps there really was a flaw, a short-circuit somewhere in that brilliant mind to cause such a severe neurosis as what he exhibited. And he was brilliant. Linda, the only child Near had spoken to or interacted with at all, was categorized as an artist. That was her gift and she really was a prodigy in her field. Near, though… Near couldn't be categorized. He was a rarity, even among Wammy's children. And one could see that just by looking at him. He had the mind of someone three, even four times his age. You could see it in his eyes. Somewhere behind that deadened grey gaze there was an undeniable spark of intelligence. And at times that seemed the only indication that he was even still alive.

"Near," Roger called.

The boy proceeded to ignore him, choosing instead to stare out the window at the moor which was bathed in purple in the bleak greyness of early morning. Roger knew Near knew he was there. Near had unlocked the door for him. More proof he could identify footsteps, as any other staff member would have been made to unlock the door for him or herself. But, for the most part, other staff members did not visit this room because everyone knew by now that Roger was the only one who could get any sort of response from the boy.

"I know you know I'm here, Near," Roger sighed. Near tilted his head ever so slightly to one side and Roger knew it was all the acknowledgement he would get, so he continued to talk. "Did you sleep?"

Still not looking at him, Near shook his head once and went completely still again.

That worried the old caretaker a bit. The boy hardly slept, almost as though he was afraid to. They had one other resident with this level of insomnia, but he was perhaps even more odd than Near. Perhaps. Roger had known the other boy longer, so he couldn't be sure of this thought. Still, Near was beginning to develop those same permanent circles around his eyes. He had had dark patches when he came in, but it seemed he had at least slept a little when he was being kept at the hospital, though Roger strongly suspected that had been achieved by drugging him.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

Again Near shook his head once before falling back into stillness. He looked so tiny and frail crouched as he was in the middle of the floor, the weak sunlight creating odd shadows in his white hair and the folds of his white clothes. If it hadn't been for the shadows he might have blended into the wall.

"I brought you breakfast," Roger said. "I'll leave it here until you want it."

The caretaker had noticed that the boy was slightly more inclined to eat when he could do so alone and without any interaction with the other children. So Roger would bring food up to Near's room twice a day because the child was dangerously underweight as it was and if there was anything he could do to make sure Near was eating then it would be done. At least until they managed to break through the wall he had built up around himself. Then again, Roger knew there was a chance they may never be able to break that barrier down completely. They had had other students who had withdrawn to the point that no one could ever reach them. Usually these children ended up in institutions where they could be better cared for. Then there were the children whose barriers had been broken, but only because the child had allowed them to be and only to a certain extent. He would be on his way to see one of those cases as soon as he was finished here.

Near heard him set the tray down on the desk and gave a small nod of acknowledgement before he heard Roger close and lock the door again. Slowly he rose and padded over to where the tray sat, socked feet making not even the slightest sound against the wood floor. It seemed Roger realized how malnourished he was, though he suspected he might have gotten that from the hospital. It seemed they had agreed to release him only because he would be sent here. Either way, Roger was treating him much the same way one would treat a victim of starvation. And he supposed he was, in a way. He actually ate more here than he had when he was still with his parents. They were still watching him, too, for any sign of illness. He supposed that was to be expected. He may have been only seven years old, but he knew more than a seven year old should.

_Nate would have rather had them go without the stupid doll. He understood it was a tool usually used when children testified in these types of cases, that much had been explained to him, and he understood the purpose, but he was quite capable of informing the jury of what had happened without it. In his mind it only made things that much more uncomfortable. They expected him to sit and point and look terrified and just generally act like a traumatized child. What they didn't expect was for him to completely ignore the doll and instead answer the questions he was asked in a calm, even tone using a vocabulary an English teacher would have been proud of._

_The trial had been long and exhausting and Nate had been quite glad to have it over with. He had sat in on the whole thing despite the protests of his doctor. It was reasoned, however, that his condition was not severe enough to prohibit him attending and with a little convincing from Roger that seeing the trial would provide a good sense of closure, his doctor had finally relented. _

Wammy's had been interested in him from the beginning, it seemed, and that made Near curious. He had caused a bit of a stir by skipping about five grades, but he didn't think it was really that much of an accomplishment. Now, though, the main focus seemed to lie in his health. They didn't seem nearly as concerned with his grades as his poor health. He could see why that would be a concern. Illness would inevitably affect his academic performance. Also, with what he had gone through he might yet start to exhibit symptoms. Many of those sort of illnesses didn't show up right away. He doubted he had anything though. All of his blood work from the hospital had come back clean.

He hung his head a little and tightened his grip on the edge of the desk. It was beyond humiliating, knowing why they had run all of the tests they had had to run and knowing that he shouldn't know anything about it. Knowing that a child his age would normally have at least another five years before they would even begin to know the least little bit about these sorts of things. He had hated seeing other children his age because of that visible innocence he had been stripped of. He felt unclean. And to make matters worse he knew that the staff here knew what had been done to him. That meant Roger, who came each day to bring him breakfast and dinner and try to get him to talk, knew about what had happened. In fact, Roger had been there when he testified and had heard Nate's account of the events in all their grim detail. That was a large part of why he couldn't bear to look at the man when he came into the room. He was fairly confident that he would not be harmed here, so he wasn't afraid to turn his back, and he hoped Roger realized that that was a sign he felt relatively safe. What he was afraid of was seeing the knowledge in the man's eyes, of being forced to confront his past again because he knew beyond a doubt that someone else knew.

Slowly he relaxed his grip on the desk and opened his grey eyes to see the tray still sitting there. Without a sound he turned away and moved to curl up on his bed. He had no appetite at the moment.


	6. Pockets Full of Posies

**A/N:** Hola. Chapter 6... Because I can't see Near being easy to deal with. That about sums it up. I've already started writing the section where I introduce Matt. I'm excited. I have an odd question for you all. This is just an example of all the randomness that goes on in my mind, but I was watching the news while I was working on this and found myself wondering, do shinigami like wars? I mean, it would make sense. I know, I'm a dork. Anywho, on with the chapter.

Thank you to Riku-Rocks and Kaze Kimizu for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:**Not mine.

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"_And can you tell me, Nate, how old were you when the first of these incidents occurred?" the lawyer asked._

"_Three, nearly four," Nate said calmly. It was incredible how detached he seemed. Most children would have been a mess in these circumstances. Then again, Nate River wasn't most children._

"_And how often did they occur?" was the next question._

"_They became more frequent over the years," Nate answered. "But when they first started it was just the one time and then nothing else for several months. Recently, almost weekly."_

* * *

Near wasn't leaving him with any choice. Roger knew what the problem was, knew why Near was the way he was. For god's sake, he had heard it straight from the boy's mouth, and in court no less. He _knew_ and there was nothing he could do. It had been two months. Two months since Near had arrived and nearly that long since he had last spoken. And it was frustrating to Roger because the boy was a genius. He was more than a genius. He had risen through the ranks in all areas he was studying and while he hadn't been given a formal IQ test just yet Roger was sure he would score somewhere well above 200. And yet he could not care for himself and he refused to interact with anyone. If Roger didn't know him he would have thought Near to be autistic, even if he didn't look it. But Roger had worked with enough difficult children to tell when a child did or did not understand. Near understood everything. Anything he was told, he understood. Anything he saw, anything he heard, anything he read, everything. That left Roger with stubborn as the only explanation of what was wrong with the boy. Stubborn and post traumatic stress disorder. If it was more of the first and less of the second then perhaps there was still hope for him. However, if it was less of the first and more of second, there would be little they could do for him at Wammy's. Not with a case as severe as his seemed to be. They had lost children to institutions because of that before.

The problem was that Roger was the only one who could get through to the boy. They had a councillor at Wammy's and Near had been sent to see her several times, but it seemed only to make things worse. Perhaps the problem there was that the councillor was a woman about the same height and build as Near's mother, so he probably felt threatened by her. Roger had suggested that one of Near's teachers try talking to him. It had resulted in the boy missing a week of that class. He was running out of ideas.

The biggest problems were the threat his condition and his past posed to his mental health and his inability to take care of himself. Roger was afraid at this point that if he was left untreated for much longer the case would end in a suicide. It seemed against Near's nature, but it had happened before. It seemed that because they were so intelligent the children here were also masters of hiding or disguising their emotions. The one suicide they had had during Roger's time there had been a young girl whose sunny disposition and constant smile left everyone shocked at her death. Frankly, Roger was still astounded they didn't catch the problem before it escalated into that. The experience had left him watchful with children who came from especially difficult backgrounds. And he had certainly noticed that Near's detachment from his past wasn't as real as the boy would like it to be. Near had allowed him to see that and it was the closest to a cry for help the boy would ever come.

The thing that confused Roger, however, was Near's inability to care for himself. He had been fretting over that same issue recently in a much older student, but the circumstances were a bit different. While he wasn't as severe as Near he would be leaving soon, possibly permanently this time. But Near seemed almost completely helpless. Though when Roger thought about it, it seemed to fit. Perhaps that wasn't a symptom. He had first been introduced to Near when the child was in the hospital. There the boy had been cared for extensively by the hospital staff. Roger had no idea what he had been like before. If he had always been like this it would have left him much more open to the type of abuse he had faced. But symptom or no, it was a factor that had to be taken into account when planning for Near's long term arrangements. Bottom line, if he continued as he was now then there would be no way he could remain at Wammy's. They simply couldn't care for him properly.

He needed to have a talk with Near, and soon. There was no point in keeping these things from the boy. He was intelligent enough to understand and accept them. Stiffly the old man rose from his desk. It was the middle of the night, but now was as good a time as any. He doubted the boy would be sleeping and he would be able to tell by whether or not he unlocked the door.

* * *

Near heard Roger's heavy footfalls in the hallway and glanced at the clock. It was eleven fifty-five. What on earth did Roger want at five minutes to midnight? Not that it mattered. Near would be glad for any distraction. He was having one of those moments again where he seemed to lose track of his thoughts and emotions. It almost felt like he was looking into someone else's mind and it was just a tad unnerving. While Roger's interruption wouldn't end the episode, it would at least give him something else to focus on besides watching his sanity slip away.

Quietly got up, unlocked the door, and returned to where he had been crouched on the floor working on a puzzle, his teddy bear at his side. He listened to Roger's footsteps as he came down the hall, taking note when he stopped outside the door and tentatively tried the knob to see if it was locked.

"Near?" Roger called as he pushed the door open, more to let the boy know he was there than anything else. It wasn't necessary, but Near reacted better when he did it, so he'd let the boy have his little oddity. "There's something important I need to talk to you about."

Near glanced up at him. The serious expression on the man's face told him this was a matter that demanded his complete attention.

"Let me start this by asking you a simple question," Roger sighed. "Do you want to stay here?"

Near nodded quickly, grey eyes widening slightly. Why would he ask that? Had he not done well enough in his academics to stay? Or did they simply not want him? He couldn't say he could blame them if they didn't.

"Near, I'm starting to worry that we can't look after you properly here," Roger said. He sounded tired. "And if that's the case then we'll have to send you somewhere else where they know how to do that."

Near tilted his head to one side in a silent question.

"That's a good example, actually," the caretaker commented. "I've noticed that while you seem to do quite well in your classes, how do I put this… How have you been feeling?"

Detached was the response that immediately came to mind, but Near just dropped his gaze to the floor.

"That's what I'm worried about," the man said. "And you won't let anyone help you. I've also noticed that you don't seem to be able to care for yourself and you won't let anyone help you with that, either. I'm concerned about your health and safety.

"There's no point in beating around the bush, so I'll explain it directly. We've had children here before who, for one reason or another, ended up like you are now. Cut off from everything. Children we couldn't help because they either could not or would not let us. Sometimes we have to give those children up to institutions, asylums, call it what you will, in the interest of their well-being. It's not something we like to do and it's not something we take lightly, because those cases are usually placed in these institutions permanently, but if we feel that there is no other option then that's what we'll do. That's not to say that if you're sent somewhere there's no chance of you being released. That's not the case at all. We have had students go, recover, and come back here. Now mind you it's rare that we encounter a case we can't deal with here, but it seems that yours may be one of those."

By this time Near's expression was one of near shock that quickly dissolved into pleading.

"I don't want to do that," Roger assured him. "But if it's in your best interest… Near, I know you don't want to leave. But if that's the case then you have to let us help you. I know you're scared. No one can blame you for that. But you have to let us help. No one here is going to hurt you, you have my word. I understand that trusting people is difficult, and if you can't no one will hold it against you, but you have to try. It's frustrating to me because you seemed fine before you came here. A little shy outside the court room, but that's not surprising. Anyway, nothing's certain yet. But Near I need you to _tell_ me, will you try?"

Near nodded, but that didn't appease Roger.

"Tell me, Near," he said again.

The tiny boy looked down at his feet and opened his mouth. "I…"

Nothing more followed, but that was alright. Roger seemed relieved as he nodded to the boy. "Good enough. Tomorrow you have another appointment with the councillor. If there's anything that will make that easier on you, make sure I know. Near, what I told you is a last resort and it's not meant to scare you, but if it comes down to it…well, I just thought you should know."

Near nodded once to show that he understood.

"Good night then," Roger said as he got up from the chair at Near's desk and headed for the door. "Go to sleep."

Again Near nodded and watched the door close behind the old man.


	7. Momma's Gonna Buy You a Looking Glass

**A/N:** Hola. Chapter 7. Not too much to say except I wrote this at two in the morning. Near can be really difficult to write. I have trouble getting the right balance because he is a child, but his mind works like that of an adult. Plus up until this point he's said a total of 35 words, only 3 of which weren't part of a flashback. Eira is a Welsh name, by the way. That's where she's from. I think that's about it. Anyone who had read Godless should notice some relatedness of the story lines beginning in this chapter. For anyone who hasn't read that, you have no idea what I'm talking about, but that's alright. Oh, and you may notice that I've changed all of the chapter titles. I don't actually know all that many children's rhymes (the "rhymes" I was told were always either Poe or Silverstein), so if any one knows of any good ones, please let me know. Thanks! On with the chapter.

Thank you to Riku-Rocks, Karin Babbitt, Emerald Skies, and Reese Craven for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Death Note.

* * *

Near did his best to hide the fact that he was trembling as he stood before the big, wooden door that separated this hallway from the councillor's office. He hated coming here. He couldn't help but be intimidated by the woman, even if she had never done anything to merit his distrust. If he didn't have to actually see her perhaps it would be different, but as things were these visits unnerved him.

At exactly three o'clock the door opened to reveal a smiling woman named Eira who reminded Near vaguely of his mother, though only in appearance. She ushered him inside and made to close the door, but he stopped her. That was one of the things that made him nervous, having the door closed, and the only person who would overhear anything in this hallway was Roger, who knew everything anyway so it didn't matter.

"Hello, Near," the woman said cheerfully. She knew he probably wouldn't speak right away, if at all, so she continued talking. "Roger has told me a little about what's been going on over the past month. How have you been?"

There was a long pause in which Near stared pointedly at the floor. Finally, just when the woman thought he wasn't going to answer, he whispered, "Not well."

It was the first time she had heard his voice and she was surprised by it. He looked so young, but his voice seemed so tired. The children here were strange that way. It was easy to forget sometimes that they were so young. Dealing with them could be difficult because they were so advanced in their thinking but emotionally they were still children. That was something about being in this place that she would never get used to.

Near looked up just in time to see her smile faintly. A real smile, not her fake smile, the one she wore when she was frustrated. It seemed she was pleased with that small amount of progress.

"Why is that?" she asked.

She knew. He knew she did. She'd have read his file. Besides which, he really was nervous and didn't feel like talking, especially about that. He just shook his head and looked at the floor.

"Near," she sighed. "You're not going to talk to me, are you?"

The tiny boy shook his head, his white curls swaying slightly before they fell to hide his eyes.

"Will you talk to anyone?" she asked. She was trying not to sound frustrated.

Near looked up at her, then back down at the floor. He was being a nuisance, he knew. Still, he wasn't comfortable talking to her.

* * *

A knock on the heavy wooden door startled Roger out of his work. It was shortly followed by a woman's voice even as the door was pushed open. "Are you in there, Roger?"

"Eira, I'm busy. Can this wait?" Roger said without looking up. And he was busy. There was a case that had come to his attention fairly recently. An American foster child bounced around from family to family since he was born. Right now things weren't looking very good for him, although he had just been taken in by another family. Quillsh seemed to think he was worth looking into.

"Near wants to talk to you," she said.

That got his attention. He looked up to see Eira standing in the doorway, Near several steps behind her. The woman stepped aside and shooed Near through the door before giving Roger a meaningful glance and turning to leave. The caretaker waited until the door was closed to speak, but Near got to it first.

"Sorry," he whispered.

It took Roger a moment to process the apology. "For what?"

"I'm supposed to talk to Miss Eira," Near said softly, staring at the floor. "You're busy."

"It's alright, Near," Roger told him, taking note of the way the boy kept his head down so that his eyes were hidden beneath his snowy hair. "I don't mind. What did you want to talk about?"

"I'm fairly certain you already know," the boy replied.

"Come here. Sit," Roger said gently, gesturing to the two unoccupied chairs in the room. Near chose the one next to the window, the one where Quillsh always sat. "I have a fairly good idea."

Near sighed. The sound was so soft it was nearly imperceptible. "Yes, but what you know is from court and my file. All you know are dates and facts and findings. That's all anyone knows. When they spoke to me about it that was what I gave them. An investigation requires understanding, not emotion."

It was odd to listen to Near speak. For all that Near looked like a very young child and occasionally even acted like one with his obsession over action figures and puzzles, the mind that hid behind the emotionless mask he wore was astounding.

"I suppose you're right," Roger admitted. "But in the more human spectrum, it's the emotions that matter. How are you feeling right now?"

Near lifted his head a little so that he could see the man behind the desk. He had closed the file he had been leafing through when Near entered and his hands were folded before him. "Not well."

"How so?" the caretaker pressed.

The young genius just stared at him for a moment. "Cold. I feel cold."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Roger said. There was something odd about Near's eyes, now that he could see them. A kind of glassiness. They seemed hollow, like staring into a void.

"Because I know," Near began, his voice once again reduced to a frightened whisper, "that it won't go away. I feel dirty. Like I'm not fit to be considered human anymore."

Roger wanted to be sympathetic. He played the part of a surrogate grandfather to many of the children. He had always been good with children, and part of that was his natural tendency toward empathy. But Near would not want sympathy, that much he was sure of. Instead he settled for another question. "Why did you cover the mirror?"

"Simple," the boy shrugged. "I didn't want to see my reflection."

"Why, though?" the man clarified.

At this Near turned to stare out the window. This office had a view similar to the one from his room. He could see the moor stretching out to the tree line, painted with purple like a landscape one might find in an art gallery. His voice was just barely a whisper, just barely enough to break the stillness that seemed to creep into the room through the window. "Because when I look at me I see her. I have her nose, and the shape of her face is just like mine. I have her hands, too. I hate them sometimes. But I can see what she did, too. I can see it in the circles under my eyes because I have nightmares. I can see it in the way I hold myself when I sit. I used to pull my knees up to my chest because it made me feel less visible, though that was before I got hurt. I see it in my hair and my shoulders. I hate having it staring me in the face. I hate having her staring me in the face."

Roger was stunned. In all fairness he had never dealt with a child whose background was quite like Near. That it was his mother who had done these things to him, betrayed him in such a way, it made it much more difficult.

"May I go back to my room now?" Near asked, turning back to the caretaker.

Roger nodded. "Yes. I think that's sufficient for today. Would you mind terribly if I tell Miss Eira what you told me? I would like for you to start talking to her at some point and what you've said will help her to understand."

"Not at all," Near said distantly. Roger could tell his mind was on something else entirely.

"Will you be coming downstairs for dinner?" Roger asked. He still had an aide from the infirmary keeping track of Near's eating habits as the boy wasn't gaining the weight he needed to put on.

"Not today," he said. "Thank you, Roger."

Roger watched the boy drift from the room, looking completely lost. It was strange to see him devote the entirety of his impressive intellect to one thought and unfortunately it was usually only thoughts of his past that received such attention. It was sad, really. But there was hope. There had been progress today; a great bit more of it than Roger had expected. Now if he could merely get the boy to talk to Eira and a healthy weight.


	8. Wednesday's Child

**A/N:** Hola. Chapter 8. So, it's been a while. I can't seem to write lately. I've done some odd little original pieces that can't decide if they want to be prose or poetry and that right there is enough to tell me that something's more off than I thought it was. I dunno. I've never really understood the way my mind works. I've been doing some searching, though, and that hasn't turned out so well either. I think it's this place. Anyway, I think I may have pulled Near out of character just a bit, but I'm hoping it's not too noticeable. I have gotten a hold of a copy of DN 13, though, and was surprised to see that Near really doesn't like L... at all. So my thinking was that he would find L interesting, because how can you not, but he wouldn't necessarily like him. So with that in mind I rewrote the end of this about four times. This was the end result. So I'm going to shut up now. On with the chapter. Unit conversions for those not familiar with metric: two centimetres is roughly an inch and three kilograms is about six pounds.

Thank you to Emerald Skies, Karin Babbitt, Riku-Rocks, Sir Lady Temi, and Renkin-chan for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note. In fact, I'm finding that I don't even understand a lot of it...

* * *

The very next day, after classes were over, Near found himself standing outside Miss Eira's office again, this time clutching his teddy bear like a security blanket. Roger wanted him to give it another go, although he had made it clear that it was alright if it still didn't go so well as long as Near tried. Once again, the door opened at exactly three o'clock and Eira gave him a warm, sympathetic smile. Near noted that she made no move to close the door today and he was glad of that. Also, she had moved the chair for him so that it was farther from her and closer to the door, probably in an attempt to make him feel more comfortable. He appreciated it.

"Good after noon, Near," she said in her usual cheery manner. She made no comment on the bear. "Shall we get started then? Roger told me what you said about the mirror. Perhaps that would be a good place to begin."

Near glanced up at her from the chair where he was perched with his left leg pulled up to his chest while his right hung limply at an odd angle with his white bear seated upon it. "I don't like you."

His voice was quiet but assertive and she was started by his sudden statement. He noticed this and quickly explained. "It's nothing you've done. It's just that you look like her."

The resemblance was vague, but it was there. Eleanor's hair had been an almost blonde sort of brown and curly, whereas Eira's was a nearly brown shade of blonde and pin-straight. Eleanor's eyes had been dark green, whereas Eira's were dark blue. But in height and build they were nearly identical. Eleanor had been perhaps two centimetres shorter and at most three kilograms lighter.

"That's why I don't like to see my reflection," he continued. "I don't like having her staring me in the face."

Eira nodded. That would explain why he was so reluctant to talk to her. She had seen photographs of his mother, but she hadn't noticed the resemblance to Near or to herself.

"That's understandable," she said. She knew better than to say 'I understand' because the children here stopped talking the instant you said something like that. It was impossible to really understand and they knew that just as well as she did. "I imagine I'd be quite upset by that too."

Near nodded. She was smart, he'd give her that. Psychology was about manipulating people, getting them to say what you wanted them to say and think what you wanted them to think. Still, it did help to some extent, even if it was only a very little.

Not much else was said after that. Most of the time was spent with Eira asking questions and Near staring at the floor, or out the window, or at his teddy, or anywhere but at Eira. Finally the woman realized that she wouldn't be getting anymore answers from him today and allowed him to leave.

Near was quite glad to finally be away from her. So much so, in fact, that he was focusing more on getting back to his room than looking where he was going and ended up crashing into someone in the middle of a deserted hallway. He bit back the impulse to apologize and cower, because it was just as much this other person's fault as it was his and he would like to at least hope that they would do him no harm. Still, he wanted to know who had just knocked him down and glanced up irritably to find himself looking into a dark pair of owlish eyes.

"Hello," the boy said with just the slightest hint of an accent. Something foreign enough that Near couldn't place it, but still light enough to be overcome by the strong British accent one inevitably picked up in England.

No hand was offered to help him up before the boy set to gathering the books he had dropped, but Near didn't notice. He recognized this boy. This was L. Near reached out with one hand and pulled his bear onto his lap, quite content just to stay where he was.

"You will be stepped on if you stay there," L pointed out as Near toyed with the bear's shaggy fur.

Noiselessly Near nodded and got to his feet, wondering if he should keep quiet or ask some of the questions he had been wondering about. L seemed fairly harmless, even though Near knew better than to assume such things, so his curiosity won out.

"You're L," he said shyly.

L nodded. "And you are Near."

Near was startled that the boy knew his name and it must have showed in his face because L went on to explain. "You are hardly difficult to remember."

He made a slight gesture to his hair and then held his hand out to the side and Near knew immediately what he meant. Someone as tiny and odd looking as he was tended to stand out in a crowd, though he did appreciate that L had the good grace not to comment on it directly.

While Near was pondering this L had picked up the last of his books. "Well, I must be going."

"Wait," Near said, throwing up a tiny, pale hand to stop the older boy. There was at least one question he wanted answered, and so far L had made no threat against him. "I was told that you're to take over some important post. A detective of some sort, but on a global scale."

L smiled an odd, faint, lopsided smile. "Yes, but nothing is certain yet, now is it? Do not count on anything before you can be absolutely certain that the outcome is within your control. Goodbye, Near."

And with that he was gone, leaving Near to stare after him. He was just as strange as Near had imagined him to be and Near thought he understood now why some of the older children didn't like him. He was a bit cold and a bit pompous. He had the good sense to hide it behind polite and well chosen words, but it was there. Near could tell that had he not been nearly trampled by the older boy, L would have quite gladly ignored him altogether. Also there was the way he had commented on his coming appointment to such a task. He had said it wasn't certain, but Near could tell from the way he spoke of it that he was sure he could not be unseated from his academic throne.

But he could ponder that later. Right now he needed to deal with the fact that he had touched someone, even if it had been unintentional.


	9. Mary, Mary Quite Contrary

**A/N:**Hola. Chapter 9. Wow. So when I was writing Ghost Love Score, writing Mello made me feel sick. Now that I look back at that though, at least the person he's abusing was another adult only a year younger than himself. As sick as I felt writing Mello in that story, writing Near's mother here is much worse. Near's a _child_. An innocent child. I'm gonna shut up now before I rant anymore. Oh, and just to warn you, Near swears. Only mentally, but there goes the theory he learned those words from Mello. : ) It's about 3:30am, so I don't have too much to say, aside from what I've said. Yay for sleep! On with the chapter.

Thank you to Riku-Rocks, Kaze Kimizu, Renkin-chan, Emerald Skies, and Nanairo Suishou for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note.

* * *

Near shivered again despite the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was crouched on his bed, hair still wet from a bath. He didn't feel quite right even though he had scrubbed every inch of himself until his pale skin turned an angry red. He had let someone touch him, even if all that had happened was he had nearly been stepped on. No one had laid a hand on him since the hospital and even there he had only let them touch him when it was necessary.

He could still feel her hands on him. A touch that should have been soothing and a voice that should have been reassuring, but not from her. No, her touch was unwanted because it made him feel dirty, made him feel things he didn't want. Her voice was anything but soothing; her whispers and shushings always preceded that touch he so loathed. And it was the memory of that voice that rang in his ears and the memory of that touch that made his skin crawl.

He was completely still aside from the trembling, just staring into the half darkness around him. It was only about five in the evening, but Near had drawn the curtains, turned out the lights, and locked the door. He didn't want to see or be seen by anyone right now. If they saw him right now they would know. He wasn't sure how, only that they would. Desperately he searched for anything else to occupy his mind. Quietly he began reciting the days of the week and months of the year in Spanish and Chinese, the two languages they were teaching him right now. It didn't help all that much, but it was something.

"_Mommy?"_

_The tiny child looked up at his mother with big, scared grey eyes. Curls of brown hair framed his pale face as he watched the woman's eyes and then her hands. He was only three years old, but he knew something wasn't right._

"_Shh. Be quiet Nate," the woman said softly._

_Fear. The boy was so afraid. There was something horribly wrong with this, he just couldn't place what it was. "But –"_

"_I said be quiet, Nate," the woman repeated a bit more forcefully than she meant to. Still the boy just stared in frightened confusion. Then her hand moved and he felt sick._

Near shut his eyes against the memory and began counting. Just the numbers, to see if he could remember. The words and what they should sound like and how to get rid of his British accent when he said them. But over all of it he could still hear that voice.

"_Nate."_

_The child ignored his mother's call. It didn't matter if he answered or if he hid, she would always find him. Why even try anymore? One small, pale finger wrapped itself around a lock of hair the same colour as his eyes. He could hear her footsteps in the hall and the closer she got the harder he tugged on that lock of hair until a fair portion of it came away in his hand. He had heard her tone and that tone never meant anything good._

"_There you are, Nate."_

_The boy didn't look up when the door opened. Even when she forced him to stand he wouldn't look at her. When she tilted his chin up he just looked over her shoulder. He didn't want to see her, didn't want to acknowledge what he knew was going to happen. There were hands, and he wouldn't look at them because then it would be that much harder to pretend they weren't there. He was vaguely aware that she was speaking, seeking some sort of verbal acknowledgement. She wasn't going to get it. He hardly ever spoke to her anymore. Only when it was necessary._

_He found himself wishing that he was more like other children, less intelligent and more able to do things on his own. His fragile state left him vulnerable and he loathed that feeling._

"_Nate," came a whisper next to his ear. "How do you manage these knots? Help mommy fix this. Nate? Don't look like that. Why won't you say anything? Nate, dearest."_

"NO!" Near shouted. With a whimper he pulled the blanket completely around himself so that it formed a sort of cocoon. He just wanted it to all go away. He could see her face, smell her hair, feel her hands… He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to remember any farther than that, but his mind wouldn't stop. All of his senses had been taken hostage by his memories and he felt like he was drowning.

There were tears and Near cursed himself for them because those tears meant he was weak. Weak and pathetic and broken. Fucking broken, and he couldn't handle that. He had managed through the years he had lived with that woman, the one who had done so much to hurt him. He had managed when his father had left in a rage because of some stupid thing his mother had done. His father had abandoned them and resigned Nate to that hell. He had managed. And yet somehow now, when he knew he was safe and that things would get better, now was when he fell apart. He had managed to keep it together through everything, but when it seemed like maybe there was the slightest glimmer of hope that he had a chance, he went to pieces. He was safe. His mother was locked away, his father was god only knows where, and he was safe. And he was sitting here bawling, hiding from the boogie man with a blanket as a shield like some sort of idiot child. And they called him a genius.

With a great deal of effort Near forced the tears away. With several deep, shuddering breaths he willed himself to stop crying. There was no need for it. It wasn't going to change anything. There was no need for any sort of emotion, really. All any of that did was make the pain worse. He knew he could be numb. Just force everything away and not feel. That was how he had gotten through everything that had happened. He would never let anyone see him cry. Or smile or laugh or anything else. Nothing. He could wear that mask again. Maybe they'd leave him alone then. Maybe they wouldn't try to make him remember for the sake of working through it. Maybe they'd just leave him in peace to forget. That was all he wanted, really, to forget.

He let out another soft whimper as he pulled the blanket tighter and tried to get that voice out of his head. Sleep. He needed sleep. He did feel tired and even though he knew he would dream it was still worth the risk. If he was honest with himself, he knew he simply couldn't deal with consciousness anymore.


	10. No Man is an Island

**A/N:**Hola. Chapter 10. Well in my search for a name for the infirmary aide I came across something interesting. Near's mother's first and middle names both mean "mother." Kind of ironic. Just thought I'd share. And I will add a section at the end of this explaining the chapter titles for anyone interested. And a bit about Near and Roger. They have a fairly unique relationship. I think Roger is to Near what Watari is to L, so there's that natural understanding and, as weak as it may be at this point in the story, a mutual trust there. Also, there's now a companion to this. It's called Fallen and it'll follow Mello. Eventually there will be two more like these. That's about it. On with the chapter.

Thank you to Renkin-chan and Nanairo Suishou for reviewing! I found it interesting that both of you said that Near's mother makes you sick...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note.

* * *

Near woke only twice because of nightmares, and both times he was too tired to stay awake. When he finally did get up it was after nine on the following morning. It didn't really surprise him – he had gone nearly forty eight hours without sleeping – but he was a little upset because he was late for his first class. However, when he stood up and the room started to spin he decided that perhaps going to class wasn't such a good idea.

Roger came at noon to see him because he had skipped breakfast and dinner the day before and he had slept through breakfast that morning. Learning that Near had missed three meals, four if you considered that he never ate lunch, and all of his morning classes was enough to worry Roger. Near barely ate as it was and he never missed classes.

When the old man arrived, tray in hand in case he could convince Near to eat something, the boy ignored him. He was sitting at the head of his bed in the corner where two of the walls met, a blanket draped around his shoulders as though it could hide him from the world. His grey eyes were wide and clouded as he watched Roger enter the room and set the tray on the desk as he always did. But instead of taking his usual place in the chair at the desk he sat at the foot of the bed and folded his hands in his lap, just watching the tiny boy. Near pressed himself a little closer to the wall and Roger sighed. Something had happened.

"What's wrong?" the caretaker asked.

Near shook his head. He didn't feel like talking right now.

"Did someone do something to you?" Roger persisted.

Again Near shook his head.

"What happened?" The old man was rather frustrated that Near wasn't speaking.

For the third time, the boy shook his head.

"Did someone say something?" Roger asked gently. He knew it would upset Near if anyone knew what had happened to him. The incident with Linda was proof enough of that.

Near shook his head again, snowy curls falling in front of his eyes. His hair was getting long, but he wouldn't let anyone cut it for him.

"Did someone touch you?" he asked, hoping that wasn't it because that would probably be a major setback for Near.

Near didn't move.

That was it then. "Who?"

"L," Near said quietly.

Roger was slightly relieved by this. L rarely ever allowed himself to touch or be touched. The older boy had seemed a bit quiet the previous evening, but he had probably been analyzing the situation with Near just as he did any unusual event. "If it was L then I promise you it wasn't intentional. He hates contact almost as much as you do. Actually, I think it threw him a bit as well."

Near looked unconvinced.

Roger watched him for a moment before speaking. "Give me your hand."

Near tensed and backed up a little when Roger offered a hand.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," the old man assured him. "If you don't want to I'm not going to make you, but please, Near, just try."

Near considered him for a moment, watching with untrusting eyes. Roger made no move toward him, just sat there with one hand outstretched. Near didn't want to, but the caretaker had never given the boy reason not to trust him. Slowly Near reached out and gave Roger his hand. He was mildly surprised when nothing happened. Roger just held Near's tiny, pale hand in his own larger, calloused one.

"See?" the caretaker smiled. "It's alright. No one here's going to hurt you."

Near nodded silently and withdrew his hand. He still didn't like it, but it wasn't so bad since it had been on his own terms. He understood why the children here looked to Roger as a grandfather figure. The old man was kind and gentle and he seemed to understand how to handle just about any situation. Beyond that, though, Near could see from his expression that it pained Roger to see any child suffer the way Near was suffering.

"Why did you skip your classes?" Roger asked after a moment's pause.

"Didn't feel well," Near said softly.

Roger nodded. "Rest, then. And eat that," he said, pointing to the tray on the desk. "Anne tells me you haven't eaten in over a day. You can't do that, Near." He paused for a moment. "Will you be alright?"

Near nodded and Roger stood up.

"Alright," he said. "I'll let Eira know you aren't coming this afternoon. If you need anything let Anne or I know, ok?"

Near nodded. Anne was the aide from the infirmary Roger had watching over Near. She normally came to check on him once a day at least, but Near didn't mind her. She was a sweet old lady, possibly older than Roger, and one of the least threatening people Near had ever met, which was probably why she had been asked to watch over him. There was no way Near, or anyone else for that matter, would ever be intimidated by her.

He watched in silence as Roger shut the door. Their short discussion had certainly given him plenty to think about for the time being.


	11. When at Night I Go to Sleep

**A/N:** Hola. Chapter 11. So I've started all of these now. There's Lost (Matt), Fallen (Mello), both of which are already up, and Inequity (L) that won't be up until summer. Summer meaning probably around the middle of next month. You may have noticed that Lost is marked 'Hiatus pending Anomaly'. What that means is, since you've probably noticed that Matt and Mello aren't in this yet, I'm waiting until Matt's introduced in this to post on that one again. Same with Fallen. Mello arrives last, so I'm waiting until he's introduced in the other two stories to update his story. It's a continuity thing. About this chapter, though. I had Doctor Online by Zeromancer on loop when I wrote this, if that tells you anything. Plus I'm sitting here in the dark because both the overhead light and my desk lamp died earlier this evening. It was like "And then God said 'There shall _not_be light!'" It's one in the morning and I have the blinds open for light. And aside from walking to classes I haven't seen daylight in about four days now. I've been in a really odd mood, so forgive me if this is a little weird. I'll explain everything in the next couple of chapters, so don't give up on me yet. Also, you can tell how long ago the things in the flashbacks happened by the colour of Near's hair in those scenes. And it is possible to train your subconscious to know when you're dreaming, just like it is possible to train yourself so that you can control your breathing and heart rate. On with the weirdness!

Thank you to Renkin-chan, Nanairo Suishou, Riku-Rocks, and Kaze Kimizu for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Death Note. Nor do I own any spare lightbulbs for the overhead light or my desk lamp...

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Near was exhausted. He wasn't sure quite why, only that he was. It had been three weeks since the run in with L and with a great deal of urging from Roger Near had just spent his first afternoon with the other children since his arrival. He had been unsure about it and he still hadn't spoken to any of them, but he had managed to stay in the same room with them for more than a few minutes. A good hour and a half he had been there. Perhaps that was why he was so tired. He had been able to feel the tension draining from his shoulders when he was finally given the ok to leave. It wasn't that he felt overly threatened by the children – for all he knew some of them could be like him – but there were just so many of them. Their seeming multitudes and careless merriment had set Near on edge. That and the innocence he could see in them that made him feel isolated and disgusting.

Quietly he made his way over to his bed and all but fell onto it. It was only five in the evening, but he could barely keep his eyes open. Perhaps it was the fact that he hadn't slept in a little over two days in addition to the state of severely heightened awareness in which he had spent the last hour and a half that left him so fatigued. Whatever the reason, he could feel sleep tugging at the edges of his mind. Silently he complied, burrowing under the covers until not even his shockingly white hair was visible. Even now he didn't feel safe going to sleep until he was sure that all that could be seen of him was a Near-sized lump under the blankets. But that, he figured, was one of his odd habits that really didn't matter too much.

It took less than two minutes for his breathing to even out, his pulse to slow, and his mind to come as close to shutting down as it ever did. But there was the trouble: his mind never really did stop, even in sleep. Even in the hospital when they had drugged him he had still dreamed. And it didn't take long for his overactive mind to begin sifting through old memories and offering them up to the boy's imagination for alteration.

Near whimpered in his sleep as he heard faint voices somewhere nearby. One was his mother and he was able to identify it all too easily. The other, however, he hadn't heard since shortly after his third birthday. His father. The man was shouting and the woman was pleading softly. Near could never make out the words, Nate hadn't caught them, but he recognised it as the final fight before his father had stormed out, leaving him alone with his mother. Tiny hands fisted the sheets as Near's well trained mind began to slip. He had learned after a while to be able to tell when he was dreaming. It was a useful trick and saved him at least a small bit of the terror the nightmares caused. At the moment, though, his control was waning. He was beyond where he could make himself wake up and he was beginning to lose track of what was his dream and what wasn't.

_There was a sharp sound of skin on skin, another shout from his father, a slam of a door that seemed to make the whole house shake, and then the sound of timid footsteps in the hall. Nate wrapped his arms around himself as he waited, half expecting to hear his mother crying, but there were just those footsteps and the sound of a car engine starting. With a creak the door opened and his mother entered. He waited until she had sat down on the foot of his bed before throwing himself into her arms and clinging to her for dear life._

"_Momma!" he cried._

"_Shhh," she cooed, smoothing brown curls the same colour as her own away from the boy's face before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead._

_The child looked up at her with big, grey eyes, studying her face with an intelligence far beyond his few years. Her dark green eyes glistened moistly and there was an angry red mark across one cheek. Nate reached a hand up and stopped just short of touching it. _

"_Dad hit you," he said sadly. The yelling, screaming, slamming of doors, none of that was unusual, but he could never recall his father having ever hit his mother before. There was a pause in which his mother looked away from him and he decided on a different question. "Is he gone?"_

_The woman nodded. "Nate, he's gone. Daddy's gone. Nate, he's not coming back this time."_

_At this Nate wrapped his arms around her neck and rested his chin on her shoulder. He was content to just let her hold him and rub his back and press kisses to his temple and whisper comforting, motherly nonsense to him because he knew that after these fights the only way she pulled herself back together was to comfort him. Besides which he couldn't object to the security she offered. Listening to the fight had scared him; it always did. His father was not a cruel man by any stretch of the imagination, but there were moments when his anger got the better of him and at those moments Nate was actually afraid of him._

"_It's alright, Nate," his mother whispered and he knew she was crying because he could feel the tears on the side of his face. "Mommy's still here. I won't leave you. We'll be alright, I promise. I'll take care of you. I love you, Nate. Mommy loves you."_

And in that moment Near's realization that he was dreaming almost resurfaced because something snapped and everything changed.

"_Mommy will always love you," the woman whispered gently. She was no longer holding him, but leaning over him. One hand was on his shoulder to help keep him still while the other brushed silver curls away from his eyes. He still had his clothes for the moment, but that didn't keep him from feeling naked under her gaze. He wriggled frantically as that hand began to trail down the side of his face, down his neck, stopping at the collar of his red tee shirt. "Mommy loves you so much, Nate."_

Near's eyes snapped open and he bit back a shout. His breaths came in short pants as he pulled the covers closer. It wasn't the worst nightmare he'd had, not by a long shot, but it had been very real and it was the first time in over a month that he had lost control and not realized he was dreaming.

After taking a moment to get his breathing back under control he pulled the covers down enough to see the clock. It was only eight, too early to go wandering because there would still be people out. Still, he didn't want to stay there. He always felt a need to move after he had a nightmare, perhaps because it helped him realize he was awake.

In silence he got up and checked the lock to make sure the door would remain closed before crouching in the middle of the floor. He could feel the nightmare clinging to his mind like the thin veil of sweat clung to his brow. It was the feeling of walking through a cobweb, so faint it was easy to think he had imagined it but too persistent for an illusion. He hated that feeling because that uncertainty of reality was worse than anything else. One small finger twisted itself into his snowy hair and tugged. He needed to get up and move.

With a great deal of hesitation he shut the door behind himself, clutching the towel to his chest as his dull eyes scanned his surroundings. He made his way to the end of the hall as quietly as he could and slipped into the bathroom. A bath would help. It always did. If he tried hard enough he could scrub away the cobwebs of uncertainty, if for no other reason than at least he felt relatively clean after a bath. Not completely clean, of course. He doubted he could ever feel completely clean again. He had lost his innocence and there was no way to regain that.

Blankly he watched the tub fill up, listening to the sound of the rushing water and thinking. He hardly noticed when the tub was full and he scrambled to turn off the water before it overflowed. When he had drained enough water from it that he could get in without making a mess, he checked the curtain that hid the area from the rest of the room and unbuttoned his shirt. He hated this. He wished there was more than this curtain to hide him, but that was all there was and he couldn't stand the idea of not bathing so he settled for checking the curtain a minimum of five times before shedding his clothes.

The water scolded his legs as he stepped into the tub and his mind was still racing. Quickly he sank into the steaming bath, willing his thoughts to stop just for a moment. Without realizing what he was doing he took a deep breath and sank all the way down until even the top of his head was submerged. He held his breath and stayed down until bright colours blossomed behind his eyes. Only when dizziness had begun to set in did he surface, gasping. He had no idea what had possessed him to do that, but his mind had stopped racing and as the room spun he seriously considered doing it again, just to see what would happen. Logic said if he kept doing it he would suffocate, but he didn't feel like listening to logic at the moment. He didn't wait for the dizziness to fade – he was afraid he'd lose his nerve – before he took another deep breath and sank back under the water.

What he didn't realize was that Anne had gone to his room to check on him and was now searching the house for him. She had waited for about ten minutes thinking perhaps he was in the bathroom and would come straight back. But after having checked the library and the playrooms without any sign of him she had begun to worry, mainly because the door to Near's room had been unlocked and there had been things out of place, which was very unlike Near. He had either left in a hurry or something was wrong. She had been keeping a close eye on him at Roger's request and simply disappearing in the middle of the day did not seem normal. If it had been the middle of the night it wouldn't have been as odd, since Near often wandered the halls late at night and early in the morning when there weren't very many people around.

But she remembered Roger saying that Near would often take a bath when he was stressed, so she decided to go down to the end of the hall and call through the bathroom door to see if Near answered. She refused to give up looking for him because she had spent enough time working with children that she trusted her instincts. Something was wrong.

"Near?" she called.

No answer. On the other side of the door Near was watching the lights behind his eyelids again, challenging himself to stay down just a few seconds longer.

Anne pushed the door open a crack and called again. "Near?"

No answer. There was a whoosh of rushing water, panting and a deep gasp, then a splash and silence. Something about the sound didn't sit right with the aging nurse and she hesitated only a moment before striding briskly across the vacant room toward the shower area. Sure enough the curtain around the tub was drawn. She paused, hesitant to do anything because she knew of Near's fear. If there wasn't anything wrong she would be causing him unnecessary panic. But then there was another whoosh of something big breaking the surface, a few weak pants, a gasp, and a splash. That decided her.

She drew the curtain back to see Near curled up under the water, eyes shut, holding his breath. She didn't think about what she did next, she merely reacted. She reached into the cold water and pulled the boy out, bracing herself against the struggle she was sure would come. But it didn't come. Near's eyes snapped open and, with a great amount of difficulty, focused on her, his fear evident as he looked into her face. Gently she set him on his feet and wrapped him up in the towel he had left sitting on the floor, but he swayed unsteadily. It appeared he was having difficulty staying upright and keeping his eyes focused, though he wouldn't look away from her, watching her hands instead of her face.

The tiny boy swayed dangerously and Anne picked him up, cradling him against her like the child he was, and took note of the odd tint of his lips. Still his eyes did not close and she could see the fear in his expression as she held him.

"What have you done, child?" she whispered.

Fortunately Near was very light, lighter than he should be really, so she could carry him easily. The fear did not fade from his expression, but he didn't struggle as she carried him down to the infirmary. It wasn't until he was clothed and tucked into one of the beds that he finally let go and allowed himself to lose consciousness.


	12. Fourteen Angels Watch do Keep

**A/N:**Hola. Chapter 12. Well, here's that explanation I promised. Just to clarify some things, PTSD can have some pretty weird symptoms. One of them is dissociative episodes. Those are freaking terrifying if you don't know what's happening. They're still terrifying when you have learned to recognise them. And depending on the person's overlying condition they can cause some dangerous incidents, though they're only dangerous to the person experiencing the episode. I can't speak for someone suffering from PTSD, but I've had experience with those sort of incidents. And if you've ever had to wear a heart monitor for any reason, they're kind of annoying and the sensor pads leave this goo that takes _forever_ to get off. Ummm... I don't remember anything else I was going to say. On with the chapter.

Thank you to Renkin-chan, Riku-Rocks, and Nanairo Suishou for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note.

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When Near woke it was to wires and faint beeping. He struggled to sit up and found that he could not. Briefly he wondered if he was back in the hospital, but a few moments later Anne appeared behind the curtain separating him from the rest of the room.

"You're awake! Oh, thank God," she exclaimed. She peeked back around the curtain and told someone to tell Roger he was awake. Then she turned back to the tiny boy. "What happened, dear?"

Near just stared at her, confused. "What's all of this for?" he asked, tugging gently at the wires.

"Don't you remember?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Someone pulled me out of the water," Near said softly, not meeting her eyes. "But I don't remember anything after that. How long was I asleep?"

"The better part of six hours," she said.

Near looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps outside the infirmary door. A few seconds later the curtain moved again and Roger appeared looking tired and worried. Near knew it was sometime after two in the morning if he had been unconscious for six hours and he wondered if Roger had slept at all. He knew the caretaker lived in the house, but he was still dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt as he had been the previous day.

"Near," he said softly, and his voice sounded just as tired as he looked. "What did you do?"

Near looked down at the blue pyjamas he was wearing and twisted one of the wires between his fingers. "I don't know. My head hurts."

"I'm not surprised after the stunt you pulled," Roger said, trying and failing to mask his frustration. "You could have killed yourself."

"Roger, dear, I think he knows that," Anne said gently, placing a hand on the caretaker's arm to sooth him.

"Then why did he do it in the first place?" he all but hissed at the old nurse. He took a deep breath and turned back to the white haired child who by this time was too frightened and too ashamed to meet his gaze. "We thought you had killed yourself. Why, Near?"

"I…" he began, twisting the one of the wires around the end of one of his fingers until it turned purple and Anne unwrapped it. "I… don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Roger asked, trying not to sound angry. "There has to be a reason. Near, what happened?"

"I don't know," the boy whispered weakly. "I just… I wanted to see what would happen. It was like… I just didn't want to remember anymore. I didn't think about it, I just did it. I don't know."

Roger closed his eyes and shook his head, pressing a hand over his eyes.

"Roger, dear, perhaps you ought to get to bed," Anne told him quietly. "Near's alright now and you need your rest. You aren't a nurse and you aren't a doctor so let me take care of him."

Roger just nodded before getting up and leaving. Anne watched him go and when she heard the door close she turned back to Near. "Don't worry, dearie," she said gently. "He's not angry. He's just tired and scared. You gave us all a bit of a fright. Now, Near, I know you've already answered this, but I'm afraid I have to ask again. I know you might not want to talk about it and maybe you're scared, but you can tell me. I promise I won't say a word to anyone, except perhaps Miss Eira if it's absolutely necessary. Why did you do that?"

"I don't know," Near repeated, not looking at her.

"Were you trying to hurt yourself?" she asked.

"No," he told her pleadingly. He could feel confused tears stinging behind his eyes, but he refused to let them show. "I just… I don't know why I did it."

"Alright," she said softly, reaching out to take his hand. She was surprised when he didn't protest or pull away and even more surprised when he squeezed her fingers. "It's alright," she soothed. "You're ok now. Poor thing. You must really be hurting. You're going to be alright, we'll see to that."

Near sniffed and held tighter to her hand. He was hurting at the moment, from more than just the memories. He was confused and scared because he had nearly drowned himself and he didn't know why. It had simply happened. The whole thing had felt unreal, even as he began to get lightheaded and his chest burned and his head throbbed it felt like he was watching it happen to someone else rather than experiencing it himself. It was as though he had wanted the pain to stop so something subconscious had taken over with a solution. He couldn't very well be haunted by memories of his mother if he died.

All he remembered was that rush of blood behind his ears as his body tried to keep him from blacking out, the feeling of his chest burning that was almost a high, and then someone pulling him out of the water. Everything after that until he woke up was gone. He couldn't even remember who had found him, just the fear first because someone was seeing him so exposed and then because he thought they would be angry with him.

"You poor child, you're alright," Anne cooed soothingly. "Just rest. Go back to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," Near replied, on the verge of tears.

"Why not?" the nurse asked.

"When I sleep, I remember," the frail boy murmured.

Anne studied him for a moment. The way he was trembling and curling in on himself and the dark rings around his eyes. Rarely had she seen a child who had spent so long in Wammy's care look so tormented. "I can make it so that you won't dream. Do you want that?"

He watched her for a moment, unsure. She had just offered to drug him. They had done that at the hospital and it wasn't so bad, but it didn't stop the nightmares completely. It did help though, and for some reason he had this overwhelming sense that he should trust her. He wasn't sure why or what had changed, but he felt completely safe for the first time in a long time just sitting there holding her hand and watching her genuinely concerned expression.

Hesitantly he nodded. Then he tugged again at one of the wires. "Do I have to keep these?"

"Just until morning," she said. "Besides, they leave sticky goo that can be tough to get rid of. You'll want a bath after that and I don't think that's a good idea right now."

Near nodded and watched her move to the other side of the room. She had left the curtain open and he could see her mixing something. When she came back she handed him a cup, which he just stared at.

"You won't taste it," she told him. After more than thirty years of working with children she had learned a trick or two. "If you want, I can stay until you fall asleep."

Near considered her for a moment. That subconscious urging was telling him it was alright, that he could trust her, and he wondered briefly just what it was that he didn't remember. "Please," he nodded.

She nodded back and he raised the cup, but paused before drinking it.

"Did you… pull me out of the water?" he asked timidly.

There was a second of hesitation and then she nodded. "I found you."

Near nodded and drained the cup before taking the hand she had offered. It didn't take too long for the room to fade and he fell into a dreamless sleep.


	13. All the King's Horses All the King's Men

**A/N:**Hola. Chapter 13. So this probably isn't going to be updated very often over the coming weeks. Please just bear with me. I've recently been put on meds for anxiety and depression so I feel like an over-medicated zombie right now. Actually, I based the dialogue at the end of this where Near's talking to Eira on my last visit with my therapist, 'cept I haven't, you know, tried to drown myself or anything. But a lot of it's word for word. I actually can't remember the past two weeks at all. Everything before Friday is just kind of gone. So if I don't update much and if when I do get around to updating my writing's a bit wonky, just bear with me. It'll get better. It'll probably start to improve right about when I stop feeling like I should be wandering around going "Brains! Brains!" But enough of that. This chapter's really short, but I was having issues and it just didn't feel like it was going anywhere. However, there is a point to all of the events in this chapter, even the ones that seem random. I can't believe this has taken me four days... This isn't even a good chapter. Whatever. It'll improve when I no longer feel like the walking dead. And the chapter title should be _All the King's Horses and All the King's Men_, but it wouldn't let me put all of that. On with the frustration.

Thank you to Riku-Rocks, Renkin-chan, Kaze Kimizu, Nanairo Suishou, and Reese Craven for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:** Do any of you honestly think I own Death Note? No? Good, then you'd be right.

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The sun was shining when Near awoke feeling oddly okay. He hadn't had a nightmare, or dreamed at all for that matter, and he didn't feel tired anymore. The best part was that he knew exactly where he was and he woke up feeling safe. It was a nice change from waking up to darkness, not remembering where he was, and fearing that he might be back with his mother. A small smile on his face, he curled up and just lay there enjoying that safe feeling until a young nurse peeked around the curtain to check on him.

"Good morning, Near," the man said cheerfully. He couldn't have been older than twenty five it was fairly obvious that he was new here. "How are you feeling?"

Near just watched him curiously without saying a word. The young man frowned and walked over to take the file from the foot of the bed. It didn't take long for realization to dawn. Near wasn't taking because Near didn't talk. At least, Near didn't talk to anyone but Roger, Eira, or Anne. When he looked back up he was smiling again.

"Alright," he said. Near wondered how the black haired man managed to be so cheerful when he realized the boy he was working with would be difficult. "My name is Ed, by the way. Well, Miss Eira will be wanting to see you, so let's get rid of these monitors. You should be alright now."

Quickly he shut down the machines, unhooked the wires, and reached toward Near, who recoiled. He glanced down at the file again and back up at Near, frowning. Now he was getting the picture, Near mused.

"You're the one who can't stand to be touched," the nurse said. Near nodded and watched the man think. After a moment he turned and pulled the curtain all the way closed before addressing Near again. "Alright, then we'll see what we can do. You'll need to unbutton your shirt to get to the sticky pads."

Near just stared at him and the man turned once again to his file as though it would somehow magically give him all the answers. He was definitely new.

"You can do it or I can do it, but I know you don't want to be touched," the nurse said. Near just sat up and pulled his left leg up to his chest, curling his right one behind him, and set his young face in a stubborn expression causing the nurse to sigh. He placed the file back at the foot of the bed and opened the curtain.

"Anne?" he called. "If you're not busy, I could use some help."

"With whom?" the old nurse called back.

Ed glanced back at the tiny, white haired boy glaring at him from the bed and answered, "Near."

There was a soft "oh" and a couple of minutes later Anne appeared. She spoke first to Ed, telling him to go assist one of the other nurses because there had been a fight. Then, once Ed was gone, she turned to Near. "Please don't give my staff trouble, dear."

"He tried to touch me," Near said, wrapping his arms around the leg that was drawn up to his chest.

"He was only trying to do his job. He didn't know," Anne assured him.

Near looked unconvinced, but didn't argue. Instead he took one of the wires in his hand and tugged at it. "Can I get rid of these now?"

"Yes," Anne said, "but you have to cooperate."

Near nodded hesitantly and did as he was told.

It was about half an hour later than Miss Eira came down to see him. She wore the forced smile he had come to associate with frustration and Near realized this wasn't going to be something he could talk his way out of. He was going to have to deal with this; just pretending it hadn't happened was not an option.

"Good morning, Near," the woman said warmly. Near could tell she was focused on not upsetting him. She probably thought he was disturbed enough already. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"I'm not sure," he said softly. "Better than yesterday, I guess."

"How were you feeling yesterday?" she asked.

Near thought for a moment, then answered, "I don't know. I can't remember."

"You don't remember?" Eira asked, concerned.

Near shook his head. "It's all hazy. It's like… I'm not sure how to describe it."

"Anything?" she pressed.

"Foggy," Near said quietly. "Just foggy. Like someone dropped a veil in front of my face. It's like it wasn't me. I felt like I was watching someone else."

"Like someone told you to do it?" Eira prompted.

Again Near shook his head. "No. I just… Disconnect. It was like a disconnect. Like I was watching somebody else. Like it wasn't me. Just… disconnect."

"Near," she began, suddenly serious and Near knew what was coming. "What you did. It wasn't a suicide attempt, was it? Were you trying to end your life?"

"No," the boy replied calmly. "I told you. It didn't feel real. I just… lost track of what I was doing, I guess. Disconnect."

Eira nodded and Near sighed. This was going nowhere fast.


	14. Cold and Raw Doth the North Wind Blow

**A/N:** Hola. I'm back with chapter 14. It's only taken me forever. About two months, I think. I've been all out of sorts lately. The past week has been nothing but working on a new novel. Bleh. I'm not on as much stuff anymore and I don't feel like a zombie now. I'm back home and driving my family crazy. This chapter's a bit odd, but I'm in an odd mood. Actually, I spent the last few days seriously considering getting rid of my account here and putting all my unfinished stories up for adoption. Eh, not now. I may yet do that, but I don't know. I haven't felt quite right lately. But enough rambling. On with the chapter.

Thank you to Nanairo Suishou, Renkin-chan, Kaze Kimizu, Reese Craven, Vicious-Loner, The life of a teenage racoon, and Spartan Eragon for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:** Just a reminder for all of you who missed the memo, I don't own Death Note.

* * *

Near remained in the infirmary for the better part of a week. The main reason for his prolonged stay there was that he had begun to forget things. On his third morning he could not remember why he was there and Eira had been concerned. When on the fifth day he seemed not to recognize a photograph of his mother the councilor realized what he was doing, and it only made her worry more.

Near could hear hushed voices through the door. He recognized them immediately as Roger and Eira. That itself didn't bother him, but their topic of conversation did.

"Is there anything you can do about it?" Roger's voice asked.

"I'm not sure," Eira replied. "Maybe. But there are always risks in cases like this. Maybe it's better just to let him be."

"But he isn't dealing with his past," Roger argued. "He's simply repressing everything. How much will he forget?"

Eira sighed. "I don't know. Psychology is not an exact science. I don't know. I need more time with him. I need to see how to work with him now. It's a rather sudden change. But I have so much I need to do right now. There's the boy in the Polish hospital. I'm still trying to work everything out with Tekla. He's nowhere near stable enough to move him now. And there's Lisa and Lena. And L. L's just… He's leaving soon and if you want my honest opinion I don't think he should. I'm concerned. But Near… I don't know."

"It's alright," Roger said softly. "You've never failed us before. I know you can do this. You have a better chance with these children than most people."

"I just keep thinking about Susan," Eira replied tiredly.

"You were seven," Roger said gently. "You should never have seen that."

"I just don't want it to happen here ever again," Eira said. "Near… he scared me. That's all. Maybe I'm not cut out for this."

"Nonsense," Roger said. "You grew up here. No one we could bring in from anywhere would be able to connect to these kids like you do."

"But that's the trouble, isn't it," Eira said sadly. "It's nearly three. Near will be here in about two minutes."

Near stood silently staring at the door until it opened and Roger appeared, a startled look on his ancient face. Near nodded to him and went into Eira's office. He kept his head down as he listened for the door of Roger's office to close, studying the contrast of his white socks against the blue carpet and the way the sunlight changed the colours. Finally the door closed and Near spoke.

"I'm sorry," the boy whispered without looking up.

Eira was taken aback. "For what?"

"For whatever I did to make you remember," Near replied. He stood with his shoulders hunched and his distant, grey eyes were hidden by a cascade of snowy curls.

"What do you mean?" Eira asked, concerned about what he would think had he overheard her conversation with Roger.

Near ignored the question and continued to stare at the ground as he murmured, "Susan… She died, didn't she?"

Eira was quiet for a moment. "Yes. She did."

"It wasn't an accident, was it?" Near continued, his voice softer than before.

"No," Eira replied almost as quietly.

Near nodded. "She was your friend. You still miss her."

This was not a question, but a statement and for several minutes it was completely silent. Then Near spoke again.

"I don't know if I had friends," he said off-handedly. "Before I came here. I don't have any friends here. I imagine she was precious to you."

"She…" Eira began. "Yes. She was."

Again Near nodded. After a moment more of silently staring at his socks he sank soundlessly to the floor and wrapped a lock of stark white hair around one tiny finger.

"Near," Eira began after a long silence.

"I shouldn't be here," Near interrupted in little more than a whisper.

"What do you mean?" Eira asked, shocked.

Near finally looked at her and for the first time that day she was able to see the pain in his clouded eyes. "I'm not sure. It's just a feeling."

"Do you mean you feel you aren't intelligent enough?" Eira prompted.

Near shook his head. "No. It's nothing to do with this place. It's more just a general feeling."

Eira studied him for a moment then asked, "How are you feeling? Right now."

"Empty," the boy answered slowly. "I don't really feel anything. Just a little uneasy and that sense that I shouldn't be here."

"Do you want to talk?" Eira asked gently. "Do you remember anything?"

Near shook his head again. "If I could ask you a question. It's a little odd."

"That's alright," Eira told him. She wondered what he would ask.

"How did you come here?" the boy inquired.

Eira was startled. "When I was a little girl I lived with my parents in Wales."

"Do you remember them?" Near asked softly. He looked so sad there, curled up on the carpet staring up like a lost child.

Eira nodded. "My mother was Welsh but my father came from the north. Switzerland. I remember my mother teaching me to play the piano. She loved music."

"What happened to them?" the boy asked, his question barely audible.

Eira frowned. "When I was six my father killed my mother. I don't know why. I wasn't home at the time."

"I'm sorry," Near said sincerely. Both of them were quiet for a moment. Then Near asked another question. "Did you ever find home?"

"What do you mean?" Eira asked.

"I've heard the other children talk about it," Near replied. "They say that they want to find home."

Eira gave a small smile. "Yes. I suppose I did. This is my home. My friends are here and they're all the family I need. But what about you, Near? Do you want to find home?"

Near shook his head. "I had a home once. I remember, I had home. But it's gone now. I don't think I want to look for it again."

Eira rested a hand on his shoulder and felt him tense up. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. But who knows, maybe someday you'll find home."

"Maybe," Near said distantly.

Without another word he turned and left the office. Eira watched him go, stunned by the haunted look in his eyes and the words he had spoken so emotionlessly. For a moment she could see a little girl with a drapery cord around her neck, her eyes closed and her skin ashen white. For a moment a death mask clouded her vision and then it was gone and there was only the little boy before her. It would not end that way.


	15. Hide His Head 'Neath His Wing

**A/N: **Hola! Chapter 15. Well, now that you're all probably thoroughly aggravated with me, new update! I've been working on another fanfic, but if you really want to see what's been eating up all my time then you should check out my page on fictionpress. This is a filler chapter, but it'll get really interesting after this, so bear with me. On with the chapter!

Thank you to Kaze Kimizu, SincerelyRainbow, Nanairo Suishou, cratermaker, Lae D Snowflake, and merichuel for reviewing! Thank you, too, to merichuel for the spelling correction.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Death Note, _Mello_ would have won.

* * *

Slowly Near became more distant. He began eating less and sleeping more. He still came to see Eira every day, though. But by the time a month had passed that feeling of disconnect was nearly constant. He felt as though he was watching the world through a veil. Every interaction seemed a front, every movement seemed awkward and heavy. There was no familiarity to his surroundings. Most of the time any sound seemed far away and even dim lights seemed too bright. He just wanted peace; silence, darkness, and solitude. If he could have that then he could forget about how nothing made sense right now.

When the boy wasn't in class, he would spend long hours sitting alone in his room in the dark, just letting his mind wander. There were a lot of gaps in his memory. There were also a lot of things that didn't make sense. The logical part of him wanted to know why and what was missing, but his emotions told him it was better to let it go.

It was fall now and Near had worked his way up to number five in the rankings. Of course, L was still the one to beat. But Near had thrown himself into his school work with a whole new fervour ever since his prolonged stay in the infirmary. He was having trouble remembering who he had been before Wammy's, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was better that way. And so he focused everything he had on grades and rankings

He spoke to no one aside from Eira, Roger, and Anne, but that wasn't much of a change. He had formed something of a friendship with Linda, the girl from his beginning psychology class. It was odd, however, in that they did not speak to one another. The only sign of life in Near's room aside from his white teddy and the boy himself was a picture that Linda had drawn for him. It was a little boy sitting out by a lake. He had on a red t-shirt and jeans and he had curly brown hair, but his eyes were grey and he held a white teddy bear as he sat staring out over the water. No one would have guessed it was a child's drawing, but Linda's gift was art. Near wasn't sure how she had known to give him brown hair or dress him in something other than white, but it unnerved him.

Right now he sat staring at that picture, thinking about the image there. He had had brown hair once. He remembered his hair hadn't always been white, though he couldn't remember what had caused the change in colour. Stress, he supposed, but he wasn't sure what had happened to cause him that much stress.

Everything before Wammy's was blurry, faint. He was having trouble remembering who he was. Who he had been, where he had come from. But it didn't matter. All that mattered now was his schooling. That was it.

* * *

"I don't know," the tiny boy said. "I really can't remember."

"What about the trial?" Eira asked. The fact that she was even mentioning the trial meant she was getting desperate.

Near shook his head. "I remember there was a trial, but not much else."

Eira sighed. She watched Near curl tighter into himself. His teddy bear was almost lost in all the white, smooshed between his chest and his knee. He had been regressing. Ever since he had nearly drowned himself he had been this way. Once she had been so happy to hear him speak. Now that was slipping away. Every day he grew colder, more distant.

Now, more than ever, that light of intelligence in his dull grey eyes was the only sign he was alive. He was thinner now, nearly as thin as when he had arrived. He was slipping away. Little by little the boy was returning to a state similar to the one he had arrived in. And Eira was not about to let that happen.


	16. Hark, Hark the Dogs Do Bark

**A/N:** Hola! Chapter 16. I can drive now!! Sorry, just had to announce that. Anyway, progress! Yay progress! I don't know if the Amber alert system had been set up yet at the time when this would take place or not, but we're just going to assume it was. The orphanage mentioned is in Cleveland because I know that area. And cookies to whoever can guess who the new boy is! Not that it isn't obvious... On with the chapter!

Thank you to Lae, Kaze Kimizu, cratermaker, and Riku-Rocks for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:** NOT MINE!!1!one!!

* * *

When mid winter came, Near suddenly found himself interested in something besides school work for the first time in months. He had overheard Eira and Roger talking about a boy who would arrive soon. He was an American and had spent his whole life in foster care. Trouble was, no one knew where he was. He had vanished from his foster family's home nearly a week prior. As of now there was an Amber alert out for him, whatever that was, but all they could do was wait.

At least, that was what Near thought until his appointment with Eira. Roger had knocked on the door toward the end of their session. Near hadn't been talking and Eira knew the tiny boy knew about nearly everything that went on at the orphanage anyway, so it didn't matter if he heard this. Actually, it would probably be good. Near would know what to expect and perhaps they could avoid any possible setbacks.

"So they found him?" Eira asked anxiously as the old man opened the door. He had promised to inform her as soon as he got the call.

Roger nodded. "But it'll be a while until he can be moved. He's quite ill."

Near frowned at this. Somehow, in spite of his disdain for the company of others, it still bothered him to know that any of the other children were suffering. Perhaps it had something to do with the things he could not remember. "Roger, what happened to him?"

Roger turned to the boy with an expression of slight surprise. Near usually didn't show much interest in the children he knew, let alone those who had yet to even arrive. "He ran away. The family he was with… well…"

"They hurt him," Near finished for him. One thing people never gave the boy enough credit for was being able to read emotions. That was probably because he very rarely displayed any sort of emotion himself. He was, however, incredibly good at reading tone, body language, facial expression and the like. He could also read lips, a talent the orphanage staff was not aware of.

Roger stared at him for a moment, then nodded gravely. He then turned back to Eira and continued talking. "He's been hospitalized for pneumonia resulting from exposure. The orphanage in Cleveland will let me know as soon as he's well enough to be transferred. We'll have a decent bit of work to do with him. He's behind in school. Maybe Near could study with him."

The old man glanced at Near with an expression that told him the last statement was a request meant for him rather than a suggestion for Eira. Near watched him for a moment before nodding, making sure his hesitation was clear. He would consider it, but it wasn't something he would just jump into. He would have to meet the boy first.

As of right now the only person whose company he could tolerate for long periods of time was Linda, and they didn't even speak to one another. She had not made the mistake of asking him about his parents again. He wasn't sure why thinking of them upset him so much. His mother had done something to him, something bad enough to have him take from her, but he couldn't quite remember it.

That was yet another thing that hid just behind that veil which separated him from reality. Sometimes it seemed as if a breeze caught the veil and he could see glimpses of his past, but usually they were still blurry. The few times he had remembered clearly it had been painful. Not merely emotionally painful, but it actually physically hurt. His chest would feel tight and his temples would throb, but once the pain passed he could no longer remember what he had been thinking of. Perhaps it was better that way. If the memories were bad enough to cause him physical pain, then perhaps they were better forgotten.

He wondered briefly what this boy would be like. Many of the children Wammy's had taken from the foster care system were loud and boisterous. Near didn't think he could tolerate that. Linda was like that occasionally, but she knew that it made Near nervous. Out of all of the Wammy's children he really only ever spent any time with Linda. Lisa and Lena, the girls down the hall from him, didn't seem to bad, but they were twins and seemed to prefer each other's company to anyone else's. But he wasn't sure what the new boy would be like.

"Anyway," Roger said wearily. "I just thought I should let you know."

Eira nodded her thanks and the old man left. She then turned back to the boy sitting before her. He was watching her patiently, waiting for her to speak.

"So what do you think, Near?" she asked.

"Of what?" the boy inquired. There was a hint of disinterest in his voice, but Eira knew him well enough by this time to ignore it.

"Roger wanting you to work with the new boy," the councillor replied.

Near was silent for a moment. He shifted his gaze down to the blue carpeting, his eyes disappearing behind shaggy, white curls. Finally he shook his head.

"I don't know him," the boy said. "To be perfectly honest, I don't want to."

Eira frowned at this. "Why not?"

"Most of the foster care kids are…" Near paused, searching for a word to describe them but finding none that really fit. "Loud," he finally concluded.

Eira nodded. She had worked with some of the children Quillsh had brought in from foster care systems. But from what she had heard about this boy, he was different.

"I don't think that will be the case this time," she told Near. "You may be surprised."

Near shrugged. "I doubt it."

"Wait and see," Eira chastised.

"I know," Near said. "I'm just drawing on what I know. It's a hypothesis."

Eira smiled at this. Sometimes it still seemed to odd to see Near and listen to his talk.

"So Anne said Linda drew you a picture," Eira prompted.

Near nodded. "She gave me brown hair. I don't know why."

"Was your hair brown when you were younger?" Eira asked. She knew better than to even hint at anything that had happened. The boy would withdraw if she did that.

Again the boy nodded.

"Perhaps it was coincidence," Eira suggested.

But Near shook his head. "I don't know. I should go now. I have homework."

Eira simply nodded. She knew he didn't really have homework. At least, not enough to merit his leaving early. Still, the homework excuse was the one he always used when he had had enough of talking. He knew she didn't believe him, but they had come to a sort of silent agreement. And so the woman watched the boy retreat down the hall, head bowed and teddy bear clutched to his chest.


	17. The Bells of Stepney

**A/N:** Hola! Chapter 17. Well, I know this is short, but I don't think you'll mind once you read it. This corresponds with Carson City, Nevada, USA. For those of you who know what that means, thank you. To those of you who don't, well, I'll just let you figure it out. Anyway, I'll shut up since I'm sleep-deprived and babbling. On with the chapter.

Thank you to SincerelyRainbow, Kaze Kimizu, Lae, and cratermaker for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:** Too sleep-deprived to think of a good disclaimer...

* * *

Four days had passed since the new boy had arrived. Two weeks and five days since Roger had come into Near's session with Eira to announce that the boy had been found. Two weeks and five days since Near had been asked to do something so far outside his comfort zone it made him want to retreat to his room and hide. But he wouldn't do that. He couldn't. As with everything else, he had to deal with this. After all, better this kid than someone else later in life.

He had been told the boy's name was Matt and he was eight years old. He lived two doors down from Near on the opposite side of the hall. He had red hair, green eyes, freckles, orange goggles, and a love of all things striped. He also did not speak unless spoken to, or at least it seemed so. He hardly spoke at all. Actually, he was nearly as quiet as Near himself. He did not like spending time with others. When he actually showed up for meals he would eat as much as possible, as though he did not know when he might be able to eat again. He had a bruise around his left eye and he walked with his head down, as though he was waiting for someone to hit him. Near guessed he had been physically abused. He also seemed to be ill, although he had known that before the boy arrived. All of this he had gathered merely by watching him.

But he knew sooner or later he would have to actually speak to him. For that reason, Near had ventured down the hall to the room Matt lived in. It was mid afternoon, not that the time mattered. They were out of classes for the next week because of Christmas and New Year, though Near really didn't see the point. Quietly he stood considering what he was going to do. The metal of the door knob was cool beneath his trembling fingers as he chastised himself for being so afraid of something so simple. All he had to do was tell the boy his name and that Roger had assigned him as a tutor. That was all. It wasn't that hard.

He held his breath as he turned the knob. It was unlocked and the door swung open silently with just the slightest push. The boy called Matt was sitting on the window sill, watching the other children playing in the snow. Near froze. He had never been this close to the boy. Always he had seen him from across the cafeteria or caught only a passing glimpse of him in the hall. He was so thin Near could see his shoulder blades quite clearly through the striped material of his shirt. He cradled his right wrist as though it was injured. But his expression. A wistful smile was painted across the boy's freckled face and Near wondered what he was remembering.

Near was startled out of his reflection when the boy turned. The action seemed sudden, though that was only because he had been sitting so still. For the briefest of moments, green eyes covered by orange goggles meet Near's grey. Then the pale boy turned and fled down the hall. He closed the door to his room as quietly as possible, hoping the boy wouldn't know what room to look in. That hope, however, was crushed when the door opened. Near simply cowered where he was crouched in the middle of the room, waiting for some sort of movement from Matt.

"Why were you at my door?" the redhead asked quietly.

Near just stared at him. It felt as though he could not speak. He was trapped and the feeling terrified him.

"Are you deaf?" the older boy asked. "Mute?"

Near shifted his weight more onto his left leg, but he still did not speak.

"What's your name?" the boy asked.

Near watched him silently for a few seconds. Finally he gave up, shaking his head as he turned to leave. But something in Near's mind refused to let the boy just walk away.

"Near," the pale boy said in scarcely more than a whisper.

The older boy turned back around. "What?"

"My name," Near replied, a little louder this time. "It's Near."

The freckled boy nodded sharply. "Why were you at my door?"

Near declined to answer the question for a second time.

"I thought so," the boy called Matt muttered. But when Near dropped his gaze to the floor the boy spoke again in a friendlier tone. "I don't bite, I promise. Where'd you come from?"

Near blinked. He wasn't sure if the boy meant what country or what circumstances. It could be either, since the boy was himself a foreigner. Either way, Near didn't want to answer. He knew he came from England, but he wasn't sure of his circumstances. That would sound stupid, though, so he simply remained silent, turning instead to gaze out the window.

"Alright, bad question. I guess I'll go," he heard the boy behind him say.

There was a soft click and Near was left in peace. Perhaps, he thought, this wouldn't be so bad. The boy had a bit of an attitude, but he still seemed relatively anxious around people. It would take more time to ascertain his disposition. For now, Near settled for watching the snowflakes just beyond his window pane and thinking of the flowers spring would bring.


	18. Iron and Steel Will Bend and Bow

**A/N: **Hola. Chapter 18. Well, I know I wouldn't be posting here for a while, but I hit a snag with the novel. And then I started reading this and that was that. Not too much to say. Show of hands, who understands at least some of the chapter titles so far? Which ones make the most sense to you? The least? That's just my curiosity. It isn't really valid. I will explain them all when the story's finished.

Thank you to Riku-Rocks, cratermaker (for both reviews and for reading the novel), and Lae for reviewing! I watched the cosplay video, by the way. I can honestly say I've never put that much effort into cosplaying anyone for any event.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note. I don't even own a wig for when I cosplay Mello...

* * *

It was two days before Near spoke to Matt again. This time the encounter was initiated by Matt. Near had noticed the boy watching him ever since their first real meeting. It was during the afternoon that there was a soft knock on Near's door. Near knew it was the red haired boy because he recognised the sound of his footsteps. Quietly he got up and opened the door a bit.

"Near, right?" the boy said by way of a greeting.

Near nodded.

"Mind if I come in?" the boy asked.

Near opened the door and stepped out of the way. If he was perfectly honest with himself he wasn't at all comfortable with this. Still, he knew he would have to face that fear some time and the other boy seemed at a bit uneasy as well.

Matt studied the white haired boy for a moment. Near almost flinched under this scrutiny, but he kept his expression blank. Finally, after what felt like forever to the smaller of the two, the other boy spoke.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Matt asked. Near could tell it wasn't a jab at his intelligence as it might have been coming from one of the other children. It was simply innocent curiosity, perhaps even pity. He shook his head in answer and Matt spoke again. "I thought I heard Linda say you were mute. But you've spoken to me. Trauma mute, then?"

Near just stared at him, wide-eyed. When Roger had said the boy was behind with his education Near had expected someone loud and unobservant, probably only moderately gifted at best. This boy seemed very logical and intuitive.

"I was right then," the boy said softly. "I'm sorry."

Near what silent for a moment, looking at his quizzically. "Why?"

"It must have been terrible," Matt said. There was distraction and distance in his tone as well as in his emerald eyes.

Near couldn't help but notice the last bit of discolouration tinting the skin around the boy's left eye and he felt a sudden surge of sympathy. But he was also curious. After debating with himself whether or not he should ask what he was thinking he decided it couldn't hurt. "Why do you wear goggles?"

Matt smiled at this. "Why do you have a teddy bear?"

Near looked down at the white bear in his hands. He honestly couldn't remember why he had it, only that he had had it for a long time. "It's from… before," he said slowly.

Matt nodded. "Same with these," he said, gesturing to his goggles. His voice was very soft with his next statement. "My first family. Well, the first that I can remember."

Near tilted his head to the side in a gesture of inquisition. He knew that Matt had been a foster child, but he would rather have the information from the boy himself.

The redhead sighed tiredly. "I'm a foster kid."

Near couldn't help but not his use of the present tense. "Are?"

Matt nodded. "Isn't this some kinda home for geniuses or something?"

Near nodded.

"I'm not a genius," Matt said, glancing out the window. "Not even close. My grades sucked. I don't stand a chance here. There's no way they'd want to keep a kid like me."

"Roger asked me to work with you," Near said quietly.

Matt shifted his gaze to rest on the tiny boy. "Like a tutor?"

Near nodded.

"Don't waste your time," the freckled boy said sadly. "Like I said, there's no way I can last in a place like this."

Near, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. "Mr. Wammy doesn't bring in unintelligent children."

"I hate to tell you this –" Matt began, but he cut himself off when he realized what Near had said. "Mr. Wammy?"

"Yes," Near replied. "He's in charge of the orphanage."

"So that's why…" Matt mused to himself.

Near gave him another puzzled look.

"I was told I was being adopted by Quillsh Wammy," Matt explained. "But I hadn't met anyone by that name."

Near closed his eyes as he tried to remember. "I think I was told the same thing. But then I only met Roger. Mr. Wammy isn't here very often. He travels a lot. When he's here he's working with L."

"L?" Matt asked.

"He's to become a detective," Near said. "There was a famous detective by the name of Quent – Q – who graduated from here, but he was killed a few years back and news of his death was leaked to the media. L's to take over Q's post. He'll have to make his own name, though, since he can't risk being too closely associated with Q."

Matt just blinked. That was far too much to take in. He understood it in theory, but it raised a new set of questions. "Are all the students here being trained for that?"

Near shook his head. "Only the top students. And out of those only the ones who show a passion for it. A detective is no good if he doesn't like what he's doing."

Matt nodded. That made sense. But another question was bothering him. "Linda's your friend, right?"

"Yes," Near said. He didn't understand why he was being asked that.

"She said you don't speak at all," Matt said. "Why do you speak to me?"

"I'm to tutor you. I can't do that without speaking," Near replied as though this should be obvious.

"Oh," Matt suddenly felt foolish. "What's your ranking?"

"Fifth," Near replied without missing a beat.

"Out of your grade?" Matt inquired.

"Out of the orphanage," Near said. "We aren't divided by grades here."

"Oh…" Matt felt more than a little stupid at his assumption. Apparently the children here were smarter than he'd anticipated. He found a way out of his awkward situation by looking at the clock. "It's time for dinner. Are you going?"

Near shook his head. "I'm not really hungry."

"Alright," Matt shrugged. He got up and made his way quietly to the door without another word.

"Matt," Near said quietly, catching the boy before he could leave. The redhead turned to look back at him. "You aren't stupid. Not at all."

Matt gave him the same wistful smile he'd seen two days before. "Thanks."

Then he was gone and Near was left alone with his thoughts. He looked quietly up at the drawing tacked to his wall, the only decoration in the otherwise bare room. The past, he reflected, was a powerful thing. Even when it couldn't be remembered it still retained its sting. It had the power to destroy. To destroy confidence, ability, security, life. Often it was said that the only thing worth fearing was fear itself, but surely there was nothing that should be feared more than the past. After all, memories, even if suppressed, had the power to kill or maim.


	19. A Spirit Storming in Blank Walls

**A/N:** Hola. Chapter 19. Not too much to say. If anyone knows where I could find a listing of children's rhymes and their origins, it would be much appreciated as I'm having a harder and harder time finding lines. That's about it. On with the chapter.

Thank you to cratermaker for reviewing! To answer your question, I should be updating Lost soon. I'm having a hard time with that one, though. I think it's the contrast in the speed of it compared to these.

**Disclaimer:** I haven't got a ha'pence, so I certainly don't own Death Note.

* * *

The next afternoon Matt came to Near's room again. This time he had a science textbook in his hands. Near answered the door before the boy could even knock. He hadn't left the room since their encounter the day before. He hadn't slept either. He had been haunted by half-remembered events and faint glimpses of the past. He wasn't sure what had brought them, only that he was in pain. His entire body ached and his mind begged for sleep so that he could escape the suffering consciousness brought.

Matt seemed hesitant when the door opened. He stared down at the younger boy with surprise and a sympathetic sort of curiosity. "You look tired."

Near nodded. He was rather distracted at the moment and it showed much more than he would have liked it to.

"Didn't sleep?" Matt inquired.

Near shook his head. Silently he settled on the foot of his bed, allowing Matt to take the desk chair. The other boy, however, did not do as Near expected. He settled on the bed next to the distraught child.

"You ok?" the redhead asked gently. He reached out to lay a hand on Near's shoulder. He didn't expect the violent reaction.

Near's half-lidded eyes snapped open and a look of terror painted his thin features. "Don't touch me!" he shouted hoarsely, slapping Matt's hand away and scrambling backward until he hit the wall.

Matt blinked in surprise. A few seconds later a wave of guilt and sympathy washed over him. Trauma mute. That was how he had described this boy yesterday. Something so horrible had happened to him that it had robbed him of the ability even to speak. Matt wondered if perhaps he was getting some glimpse of what that had been.

"Sorry," Matt said gently. "I didn't know."

"Don't touch me," Near repeated, curling in on himself. He seemed to be attempting to merge with the wall. Matt could see tears in his grey eyes.

"Are you alright?" the redhead asked, his voice soft. He wanted to do something to fix the pain he had caused, but he didn't know how.

"Don't touch me," Near said a third time. His voice sounded weaker now, more broken.

Matt frowned, glad his eyes were hidden behind his goggles. "What… What happened?"

Near was silent for a moment. After several deep breaths the terror began to fade from the boy's dull eyes. It was quickly replaced by hopelessness. "I… don't know. I can't remember. Just… don't touch me."

Mat nodded. "I won't. I'm sorry." There was a long pause, and then Matt asked solemnly, "They hurt you, didn't they? Badly. They hit you."

Near frowned and looked down at his socked feet. "No. She… she didn't hit me. She never hit me. I…"

Matt studied him for a moment, a worried frown presenting an odd contrast to the youthfulness in his features. Then there was clarity. It was like someone had turned on a light. Matt had spent too much time in shelters not to realize what had happened. "She… Was she your mother?"

Near hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"Did she…" Matt wasn't sure how to phrase what he was thinking. "She abused you, but she didn't hit you. Did she…"

Near closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. His head was beginning to hurt. He could feel tears slipping down his face. Reality was gone. Matt was gone, his room was gone, the orphanage was gone. Near found himself suddenly consumed by his memories. He could feel hands on him. Nausea built in his stomach and he could feel his head swimming as he tried to hold on to consciousness. He could hear a familiar voice, one he never wanted to hear again.

Near felt a hand on his shoulder and he heard himself screaming. Someone was calling his name. His new name, not the one she had called him. He tried to free himself from that contact, but the hand wouldn't let go. Bile burned the back of his throat. Whimpering in fear, he doubled over and pressed his head to the sheets. There was another wave of bitterness and he retched. He could feel himself shaking violently. Suddenly the hand on his shoulder was gone and he heard footsteps and a voice yelling "Help!"

Then there was darkness.

When Near woke he found himself in the infirmary. The first thing he noticed was the red haired child sitting next to his bed, watching him anxiously. The second thing he noticed was that Eira was standing next to the other boy with a hand on his shoulder. The tiny boy looked from Eira's concerned expression to Matt's guilty one and then back to the councillor.

"What happened?" he asked quietly. He knew this was a bad question when he caught the slight flicker in Eira's expression.

"You fainted," the woman replied.

Near nodded slowly, processing this bit of information. "I'm alright now."

"Matt said you screamed," Eira said gently. "Why?"

Near studied her expression before looking to Matt. He couldn't help but notice the dampness clinging to the lenses of his goggles. The boy refused to look him in the eye. It had been his hand, Near realized. It had been Matt's hand on his shoulder. He had been trying to help.

"I panicked," Near said. "Matt asked me about my… about before. I panicked. He put a hand on my shoulder and it scared me. He was trying to help. It isn't his fault."

At this last bit Matt's gaze rose to meet Near's. Eira looked between them, watching this silent interaction. Near would be alright. He would be jumpy for a few days, but he would be alright. Perhaps this could even be a good thing. After all, he had realized that Matt had no intention to harm him. It wasn't until after the fact that he realized this, but he had realized it. Matt was actually the one she was concerned about. She had been watching him. He was unstable. The fact that Near had forgiven him but he had not forgiven himself showed something of this. Of course this was not the only evidence she had that the boy was not emotionally stable, but it certainly didn't help. She made a mental note to keep a close watch on both of them.

"Come on, Near," Eira said, letting go of Matt's shoulder and stepping toward Near, one hand outstretched. Hesitantly the boy took the hand offered to him and stood up. He felt a little shaky, but that was all. "Why don't we go talk if you're feeling alright."

Near nodded and the woman looked to Matt. He was staring at his hands, tears welling in his eyes again. This wasn't something Eira noticed, but Near saw it. Similarly, Eira saw that he was mouthing something. Near understood what he was saying. _"I understand."_

"Me too?" the boy asked, looking up at them with apprehension.

"You too," Eira confirmed.

Matt looked at Near as though asking for his confirmation as well. The white haired boy nodded slightly and Matt rose to his feet. As Near followed Eira from the room he couldn't help but notice that Matt was trailing several steps behind them.


	20. Chapter 20

Hello all,

To anyone still reading these, just a quick note to say these are no longer officially on hiatus. It's been a good three years since I worked on them, I know, but I really want to come back to them. I started pulling things off the site – stories with their notes and reviews – because ffn has begun purging stories it deems "inappropriate" (quick tip, AO3 is a lot more forgiving of its fanficers and has a more forgiving rating system too), and ironically that got me rereading these and wanting to work on them again.

I'm currently working on Inequity. I don't have Aberrational (BB's) started really. I've got about a paragraph. And it looks like Forsaken, Mello's new story (since Fallen seems to have just kind of come out of left field) never even made it up on the site in the first place. But I think the whole posting them in order is going to kind of go out the window. I didn't start writing them in order, after all. The order is Inequity, Aberrational, Anomaly, Lost, and Forsaken.

But that said, I think I'm done with this hiatus. I was kind of in a fanfic slump for about two years before I recently got into the Sherlock fandom and going back through some of the Death Note fanfics I read and wrote makes me want to get back into that fandom as well. So hopefully, once this huge midterm paper I should be working on atm is finished, you'll start seeing more chapters of these.

Shadow


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